


A Christmas Carol

by EllanaSan



Series: Hayffismas 2017 [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Hayffismas Week, I remained classical, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, So..., and other christmas spirirts, but i looooove the mickey mouse version of this so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 05:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13070073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: Maysilee shook her head. “You will be visited by three spirits tonight. They will show you.”“What? More ghosts?” Haymitch chuckled bitterly. “All I wanted for Christmas. How did you know?”Day 3: A christmas carol (adaptation of a christmas story/song/movie)





	A Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 of hayffismas is: a christmas carol.  
> No I didn't go looking too far for the title XD 
> 
> This one really got away from me. It's normally something I would publish in chapters over a week so I really hope if you read and like, you will take the time to leave some feedback! Pretty please? Anyway... Enjoy!

****

 

**1\. Humbug**

* * *

 Haymitch glared at the group of carol singers in the street, hauling the strap of his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. Fortunately, none of them even so much as _tried_ to ask him for a coin. Only one was bold enough to wish him a merry Christmas, prompting him to glare harder and to mutter under his breath that the whole thing was little more than a sham and that they should be ashamed of themselves for behaving like privileged Capitols.

He was relieved to leave the unusually crowded streets of town behind to attack the slippery slope that led to the Village. There were still blinking lights ahead – Peeta had insisted on putting some on the Village’s gates as if it could _actually_ make the place more cheerful – but it was nowhere near as bad as the main part of the District. The kids’ house was visible from afar, all twinkling lights and colorful – not Katniss’ doing by far but the girl seemed happy to go along with her boyfriend’s newfound passion for the winter holidays.

The Village hadn’t been spared. Garlands had been nailed to a few doors, red and green ribbons were everywhere and if he saw another branch of mistletoe…

Haymitch had always been very good at facing dangerous things head on.

There was no ignoring the facts: Christmas had invaded Twelve and it was almost as annoying as the thick snowflakes that had been steadily pouring all week.

Christmas had never been a _big thing_ in the Districts, not like it was in the city with their bright lights, their huge colorful trees and their avalanche of gifts. In the Districts, before the war, you were lucky to have food on the table, never mind gifts or trees or anything as scandalously extravagant as fairy lights. Maybe you would go the extra-mile and try to have something special, mostly for the children, but it was all a very simple affair. Something he hadn’t cared to celebrate in a very, very long time.

Last year, Christmas had fallen not long after the surrender and Panem had still been in flames. He remembered Effie vaguely remarking that it had come and gone unnoticed while they were working on Katniss’ defense for her upcoming trial. He remembered the yearning in her eyes and the way she had snatched her hand back when he had tried to reach out…

He trudged down the path that led to the back of the Village where most of the houses were still empty and _blissfully_ devoid of decorations. He tried to pretend the flashing colors irritated him first and foremost because it reminded him of his arena but the truth was, what it really made him think about was his escort’s face laughing next to a Christmas tree, her face bathed in the changing lights of red and green fairy lights.

He _hated_ Christmas.

He hated it with _passion_.

Even the snowmen that randomly appeared here and there, sometimes oddly shaped, sometimes oddly dressed, annoyed him.

_Finally_ , he spotted his house in the distance, sensibly desolate and dark against the surrounding coat of snow. He hadn’t bothered clearing the path that led to the front door, happy to let the knee-deep snow discourage carol singers from knocking on his door – because they _did_ knock on doors, asking money for charities in exchange for a song or two and while he wasn’t against giving some money, he was against being assaulted by Christmas carols – so he walked around the house, following the narrow alley the kids had dug for themselves. He checked on the geese on the way, made sure the pen he had built for them was withholding the weather, and didn’t know why he felt so disappointed that the birds were all tucked away and barely greeted him with lazy honks.

Maybe Katniss was right. Maybe he needed a pet that would actually be happy to see him.

But a dog or a cat would be dependent and he didn’t want anyone depending on him. He was never better than when he was alone after all.

With the cold, the backdoor was acting up and he was forced to give it two hard shoves before it finally surrendered and opened. The wind was picking up and he was happy to get inside, immediately grumbling when he realized it was _barely_ less freezing. The fire must have died down.

He tossed the messenger bag on the table in a clicking chorus of glass bottles knocking together and tore the woolen beanie off his head. He peeled the numerous layers off his skin, the coat was discarded on the bag of a chair, the gloves thrown on the kitchen counter and the scarf with its holes in it ended up hanging from the dresser’s drawer.

He was walking toward the living-room to tend to the fire when he caught something at the corner of his eyes heading for the door on the left. He immediately whirled around, his hand falling on the handle of his knife.

“Who’s there?” he asked loudly.

The… _thing_ had been human-shaped. Maybe the kids had a point about him needing to lock the doors. The study’s door was ajar, which was odd because he hardly ever went in there, and he slowly pushed it completely open, certain that he would find the intruder trapped in there.

It could be a child. Since the Christmas season had begun, they seemed to have made it a game to see who would be brave enough to cross his path. He remembered being ten and doing stupid daring stunts to impress his friends. Sneaking in the old drunk’s house would have been right up his alley.

The room was empty.

He remained very still for a few seconds, trying to listen to heavy breathing or the small noises that would betray the hiding place of whoever it was, but aside for the wind hurling handfuls of snow against the window, there was nothing.

At long last he stepped inside, his fingers tightening on the handle of his knife. The dust made him sneeze twice when he disturbed it but ultimately it was what made him relax. There were no other tracks but his on the floor. Nobody had come in there in a very long time, probably since Hazelle had been working for him even.

He could have _sworn_ he had caught a glimpse of blonde hair but it must have been a trick of the eyes. Or wishful thinking. 

He didn’t let himself go there. There were fantasies that weren’t worth indulging on. They were too painful on waking up.

He walked around the room for a minute, moving a chair, passing his hand over the surface of the desk and then swiping it on the leg of his pants… He fished the key in the ugly vase on the small table in the corner and, after a moment of hesitation, he unlocked the desk’s drawer and took out the small metal box. It had become a little rusty.

He brushed his fingers against the lid, not sure he wanted to go _there_ either. Not tonight of all nights because it was Christmas Eve and he hated Christmas and he didn’t need to feel any more miserable than he already did.

And yet…

He checked that the window was properly closed just in case and then retreated to the living-room, placing the box on the mantelpiece to be forgotten if he really wanted to. He was a bit low on wood and he made a mental note to go fetch more from the shed the next day if the blizzard didn’t stop. He didn’t fancy getting snowed in without proper combustible. Although there were a few pieces of furniture he wouldn’t have minded using as firewood.

There was a creaking upstairs, the kind of creaking that meant someone was stepping on that loose floorboard at the top of the stairs, and he froze once more, a frown on his face. Taking out his knife again, he meticulously toured every room in the house, downstairs _and_ upstairs, attentive to the smallest noise…

He didn’t find any sign of an intruder.

And yet at some point, he could have _sworn_ he had seen a flash of blond hair again. A very real shiver ran down his spine.

He must have drunk more than he had thought, he figured. That must have been it. His treacherous mind tended to conjure her when he was drunk. Sometimes the yearning was so strong he was tempted to call her, he actually stopped himself with his fingers clutching the phone receiver, the first three numbers already dialed.

_She doesn’t want anything to do with you_ , a little voice reminded him at the back of his head _, she’s living the dream in the city, she’s with someone, she’s happy… She’s better off without you_.

At least that was what the kids had reported Effie had told them. And that was more or less what she had screamed at his head the last time he had seen her, in those difficult weeks following victory, when they had been trying to find some balance back to their relationship between his guilt for failing her and her resentment for having been left behind. The announcement that he would be leaving for Twelve with Katniss had been the last straw, the proverbial nail in the coffin of their complicated affair.

She had gotten so angry, that day… 

He had asked her to go with them and it had come out very wrong, like a Hail Mary rather than a genuine offer, like he was asking just because she was furious and not because he _really_ couldn’t bear the thought of that much distance between them. He had been in peace with the idea of… _moving forward_ with her at that point, to evolve from the two of them being a dirty secret to something more official – maybe not _wedding bells_ official but living together… he would have been able to handle that. He had _wanted_ that.

But as usual when it came to expressing feelings, he had put his foot in his mouth and had said the wrong thing or maybe it had been the right thing but he had said it wrongly and now there they were: he was back to being trapped in his loneliness and she was back to her usual antics in the city.

And when he was drunk, he tended to conjure her, to imagine she was around just to feel a little less lonely, to…

He shook his head, called himself an idiot and swore he would get a grip. There was no one in the house but him, it was the wind and the snowstorm acting up, nothing more.

He was back downstairs for only a few minutes when someone _did_ enter the house uninvited but he would have known Peeta’s footsteps everywhere so he didn’t bother startling. The boy didn’t look impressed at what he found.

Haymitch had been avoiding the kids since the holiday season had started and the Christmas bug had bitten them. It had been a couple of days since he had seen them and, clearly, Peeta didn’t approve of the extra mess in his living-room.

“It wouldn’t kill you to clean a little.” the boy sighed.

Haymitch rolled his eyes and tugged on the hem of his woolen sweater, trying not to mind that the kid was _right_. He had lived in a dumpster practically since he had won his Games but when Hazelle had started working for him… Well, he had gotten used to a clean environment and he had worked a minimum to keep it that way. But when he had come back to Twelve… It hadn’t seemed worth it. _Nothing_ had seemed worth it.

And Sae’s numerous hints that there were plenty of people in town looking for work and who would be happy to do the housework given how well he paid never convinced him to go the extra miles and actually hire someone else.

He couldn’t bother.

Sure, there was dust everywhere. Sure, the dishes were piling in the sink. Sure, there was rotten food in the fridge and the cupboards were otherwise empty of anything that wasn’t liquor. Sure, there were dirty plates, forks, mugs and glasses all around the living-room. Sure, you couldn’t go three steps without tripping on an empty bottle or clothes in his bedroom. Sure, he had been overdue for laundry day for a while. Sure, his clothes were old and shabby and it wouldn’t have hurt him to buy some new stuff.

Sure, sitting there on his stained couch with a sweater full of holes and a glass of moonshine in his hand, he felt like a loser.

Well… Everyone couldn’t be like the boy, all preppy and cheerful in a ridiculous Christmas sweater with reindeers on it.

“What do you want?” he mumbled, not in the mood to socialize.

“I want you to come over for dinner.” Peeta said. “It’s Christmas Eve… You shouldn’t be alone and…”

“Don’t _fucking_ care about Christmas.” he scoffed for what must have been the hundredth time.

The worst time, by far, had been the one when the kids had tried to force a Christmas tree in his living-room and he had almost had a stroke about it. Truth be told, he thought Katniss had gone along with that plan just to see him turn a nice shade of purple. No way the girl was as invested as the boy was.

“Don’t think of it as a Christmas dinner then.” the boy shrugged. “Just dinner with us. It’s been at least a week since we all ate together. We miss you.”

He felt a twitch of guilt at that. He _had_ been neglecting the kids.

But the thought of gorging himself on food – as delicious as it would be – in what now looked like Santa’s kitchen…

“Not tonight, boy.” he refused, not unkindly.

Peeta’s face fell. “Katniss stuffed a turkey, you know. It smells really good.”

“You mean to say my house smells _bad_ , kid?”  he snorted, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m just gonna go to bed and wait for this nonsense to be over, yeah? No offense but Christmas’s really not my scene.”

Peeta’s gaze pointedly darted to the glass in his hand and the open bottle propped against the cushion of the couch. The boy didn’t say anything but he didn’t need to. They both knew there wouldn’t be any going to bed early that night, just a lot of drinking. There was a reason he had risked the Christmas cheer to hit the liquor store earlier after all.

“If you change your mind…” Peeta eventually offered.

“Yeah, I know.” he nodded. “Maybe tomorrow.” He might feel like making an effort the next day. But then there might be presents and… He made a face. “Or the day after that, yeah?”

Peeta sighed once more, wished him a quiet merry Christmas and left the way he had come. He wasn’t exactly surprised to hear the back door opening and closing about fifteen minutes after that or to smell the appetizing aroma of stuffed turkey.

That was Katniss.

There and gone without attempting to force him out of his comfort zone, more understanding of his issues than the boy.

He tried to resist but eventually he caved and fetched the plate. He ate with his fingers because he couldn’t locate a clean fork and tried not to imagine Effie’s shrill voice commenting on his table manners. The last part was harder and it spoiled his appetite. He put the plate on the coffee table, wondering how long it took to heal from a break-up that wasn’t really a break-up because they had never been _committed_ in the first place. It had been a year now. A whole year. And he still stiffened when he caught a sniff of lavender because that was how her bed sheets always smelt like.

He had actually stopped to smell a girly fruity shampoo at the store the other day, just because it looked like the one she used to keep in the shower and…

_Pathetic_.

His eyes found the metal box on the mantelpiece. He retrieved it under the cover of poking the fire, trying not to mind his cracking joints. It had been ages since he had opened that particular Pandora box and he felt his throat close as soon as he glimpsed the first items he kept in there.

He fingered the tattered pink ribbon that had been his token once upon a time. He had worn it wrapped and knotted tight around his wrist like a badge of honor and he had kept it in his pocket for even longer afterwards. His girl’s ribbon. The only ribbon Mabel had owned, really. The Seam wasn’t known for its hair decorations.

There were pictures too. The only one he had of his family, yellowed by time and faded from the blaze of the fire that had swallowed his home. He wasn’t sure how it had survive, he was just thankful it _had_. The faces were grainy now, the features too blurry to make out perfectly and his memory wasn’t precise enough to compensate. Still, he brushed his thumb over his little brother’s face and tried to remember…

When he put that aside, it was to find magazine clippings or pictures, old enough that he barely recognized himself on them. He had been young then. Never carefree but young and handsome and ready to take over the Capitol with his friends. Mags still had black hair on those. Chaff’s shortened arm was around his neck as he lifted his glass in a toast to something long forgotten… Finnick’s little shit grin as he forced two equally grumpy Chaff and Haymitch to pose with them… And finally _Effie_. Effie snapping pictures of them, laughing as he obviously struggled to grab the camera. Effie naked and in bed, smiling back at him without a care in the world for the pictures he was taking. Effie offering herself to his gaze like…

He snapped the lid of the box shut and downed the rest of his glass.

It had been another time then.

She had been unmarked by the war still, by his failures.

He discarded the glass and grabbed the neck of the bottle.

It wasn’t a night to pace himself.

The phone rang at some point. Two or three times. But by that time, he was too far gone in moonshine to care. He wouldn’t have answered even if he hadn’t.

“Merry _fucking_ Christmas to me.” he snorted.

* * *

 

**2\. The Messenger**

* * *

 

Haymitch woke up with a start, not quite sure what had alarmed him but suddenly alert, heart racing and adrenaline flooding. At first he had troubles understanding what was going on. It was dark in the living-room but the lights should have been on – he never slept without at least one lamp on at night – and it was _freezing_. So freezing he could see his breath coming out in puffs in front of his face.

He stood up from the couch, studying the dead ashes in the fireplace with a frown. The fire he had built should have lasted the night or, at the very least, stretched until the very first hours of morning. It was dead now. Dead and cold. Not even smoking. Not one ember poking underneath. Odd. Really, odd.

Floorboards creaked upstairs but he refused to be tricked by his treacherous mind again. It was just the house acting up, nothing more.

It looked like the storm had really picked up outside. It was too dark for him to see but he could hear the wind roaring in the chimney, blasting snow against the windows… Maybe the electricity had given in. It didn’t explain the fire but it explained the lights.

Except when he hauled himself off the couch, he heard the distinctive humming of the fridge in the distance. His frown deepening, he walked to the switch and flicked it. Lights flooded the living-room.

_Weird_.

A door audibly slammed shut down the corridor and, this time, Haymitch didn’t let himself hesitate. He pulled his knife out of his belt and rushed ahead, very angry with whoever was playing pranks on him. It _had_ to be a prank. The feeling that someone was in the house earlier, the fire, the lights, now slamming doors… He hoped the kids weren’t involved because he would skin them alive for this. He hoped even more it wasn’t Plutarch’s idea of a joke, a candid camera or whatever he was producing those days.

The study door was slamming close only to bounce back open.

Haymitch kicked it open, knife ready to be used right as he switched on the lights…

The study was empty but the window was wide open. It explained the cold, at least. And the slamming doors.

But he had closed that window earlier.

He had checked the latch twice.

With a suspicious glance around and careful not to keep his back to the door, he stomped on the heap of snow that had come in to force the window close, thinking it might be broken. It didn’t resist though and the latch was intact.

And there was no getting rid of the strange prickling at the back of  his neck, the distinctive feeling that someone was watching him.

The room was empty though so except if there were cameras…

The thought made his skin crawl.

He retreated to the living-room once more, attentive to the smallest sound. This time if something flashed in the corner of his eyes, he would catch it, he swore it.

He had been so busy watching the shadows that he almost jumped out of skin when he spotted the blond girl sitting on his couch, comfortable as you pleased, her feet propped on the coffee table and his box of memories on her lap. She was rummaging through his belongings and that infuriated him.

Her long hair was loose and hid her face but she was so skinny he didn’t think she was much older than Katniss and Peeta. She was wearing something entirely inappropriate for the weather too. A blank tank top and cargo pants with sturdy scrapped boots…

“The _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he snarled.

He might have been less inclined to strangle a teenage girl with clearly too thin clothes sneaking in his house on Christmas Eve if she hadn’t been so obviously trying to terrify him for a while. Maybe the kid needed a warm place to stay, maybe she thought she could sneak around and steal food… Whatever. He would have given her money and tossed her out the door as soon as the storm had cleared…

… if she hadn’t been _snooping_.

The girl tossed her head back and looked up at him.

Haymitch gasped and stepped back right at the moment the lights turned off again. With the room once more in the dark, he was blind and all he could do was clutch his knife tight, heart racing…

“If this is a joke, it’s a very bad one.” he spat. “You…”

Laughter rang in the air. Familiar.

A fire appeared in the fireplace. It just _popped_ into existence as if it had always been there.

It was a nightmare. It _had_ to be. The whole Christmas thing had gotten to him and now he was having a nightmare. That was the only logical explanation.

But it felt so real…

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Maysilee’s ersatz declared and then laughed again like she used to do in school, long before her name had been called at the Reaping. He hadn’t heard her laugh after that. A few chuckles maybe but not that joyful carefree laughter he didn’t even know he could remember. “Well, _yeah_ , I _did._ But it was too funny. You should have seen your face…”

Even the worst night terrors didn’t feel like this. Haymitch felt awake. Awake and awfully sober. There was none of the blurry quality of a dream. This felt…

The girl walked closer to the fireplace and outstretched her arms to warm her hands. In the glow of the fire, she looked exactly like she had on the last day in the Games, next to their campfire. The same light played in her honey blond hair, her blue eyes sparkled in the same determined fashion… Her face wasn’t as hard though. She looked relaxed right then, carefree like she used to be in school when she strutted around arm in arm with her twin, followed by her friends.

They had never really talked before they had been reaped. She had been from town and he had been from the Seam. They hadn’t had the same set of friends or the same kind of lives. He had honestly been surprised that, of the three others from Twelve, she had been the one to survive that long.

“If this is a joke…” he repeated, frantically searching for an explanation that made sense. Her niece had looked a lot like her but Madge Undersee had died during Twelve’s bombing. She didn’t have any other family. And maybe someone could have found a girl who looked exactly like her but at what end? What was the point of this cruel twisted prank?

“Oh, it’s not a joke, Haymitch.” she countered, crossing her arms in front of her chest and turning around to look at him. “I’m really here. It’s really me. And _no_ , you’re not dreaming.”

He stared at her for a moment, daring to take a step closer. When she didn’t attack, he took another one. He remained at a safe distance though but close enough that he could see…

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to see.

“You’re dead.” he commented.

“As a door-nail.” she confirmed with a smug smile.

He blinked, licked his lips and eventually decided that the moonshine he had drunk earlier had been poisonous. It didn’t stop him from picking up the bottle and taking a good healthy gulp.

Maysilee was still standing there when he lowered it though.

And she looked amused. A little sad too but amused.

“You know, you can drink all the alcohol in your house, it won’t get you drunk tonight.” she remarked.

“What’s so special about tonight?” he snorted. “You’re just a bad dream, sweetheart. Got plenty of that before.”

She shook her head, simply looking sad now. “You couldn’t have saved me, Haymitch. I’ve been dead twenty-six years now and you’re still wondering. You should really let that go. I don’t blame you.”

“Well, it’s a nice change.” he mocked.

Usually, in his nightmares, Maysilee accused him of having let her down when not of downright having murdered her. And then, of course, she tried to kill him.

“This really isn’t a dream, Haymitch.” she sighed. “You don’t believe me?”

“We established you’re dead so unless…” he started to scoff only to pause. “Oh.” He looked at the bottle in his hand and then at the couch thoughtfully. He had been drinking _a lot_ earlier. He didn’t remember how much but… “Am I dead too?”

There was something twisted to the hint of hope in that question.

“No.” Maysilee denied. “But you’re lost and tonight is a night for miracles.”

“Yeah, right.” he scowled. “More Christmas _bullshit_.”

Trust his mind to torture him with everything he hated.

“You’re wasting your life.” she accused and, this time, there was resentment and regret in her voice. “You’ve been wasting your life for twenty-six years. You could have had a happy evening tonight, you know, if you hadn’t been such a moron. Effie would have been here. You could have had dinner with Katniss and Peeta. You could have come home with her. Be _happy_ with her. And instead you pushed everyone away and now you’re alone and miserable.”

“Okay.” he deadpanned, taking a swing of moonshine because that was his default defense mechanism. “Nice chat. See you next year.”

He turned around and tried to leave the living-room but there was a freezing draft that chilled him to the bones and suddenly there she was, blocking his path.

“Don’t you see?” she almost begged. “You can still fix it. But it’s _now or never_ , Haymitch.”

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You come back to haunt me just to tell me how to live my life?”

“Clearly, someone _needs_ to.” she retorted. “And who else will save your ass, Abernathy? We’d live longer with two of us. Right?” 

“Didn’t work that well for you.” he whispered. He felt tired all of a sudden. This… Whatever this was… Alcohol poisoning or a strange dream or… It was too much. “Look…”

“You’re not going to like it but hopefully by the end of the night you _will_ get it together.” she cut him off. “I don’t think you will be seeing me again, I’m just the messenger. Watch out for the third one, he’s not… He gives me the creeps.”

“The third one?” he repeated. “What are you on about? You sound crazier than me.”

She shook her head. “You will be visited by three spirits tonight. They will show you.”

“What? More ghosts?” he chuckled bitterly. “All I wanted for Christmas. How did you know?”

“You can _still_ fix everything.” she insisted. “Please, remember that.”

She outstretched a hand and, stupid as it was, he found himself reaching back.

The moment their skin touched, everything turned black.

* * *

 

**3\. The Ghost Of Christmas Past**

* * *

 

One second he was standing in his living-room facing a dead girl, the next he was in the middle of a narrow street lined by houses that were little more than shacks. He could only gape for a moment because he knew that place. He knew that place like the back of his hand and it had been lost to flames long before the Capitol had decided to bomb Twelve into oblivion.

The Seam had grown back around it eventually – had grown back _over_ it even – but that particular street with its shabby looking houses with tin roofs that leaked every time it rained a little too hard had been gone a long time. The uneven ground under his feet was frozen and slippery even though the snow had been more or less shoved to the side of the street, clearing a path for people to walk through.

Everything was so painfully familiar…

“Catch me!” a little boy laughed behind him and Haymitch turned just in time for the kid to race past him without any thought for how dangerous it could be to run at full speed on icy patches. Another boy, an older one, ran after him but Haymitch barely paid that one any attention because the little boy…

He would have known that green woolen hat anywhere. He had watched his mother knit it.

“Hayden…” he whispered, air blocked in his throat. “Hayden!” he repeated, louder, suddenly unable to stop himself from shouting his brother’s name at the top of his lungs. He thought he could count on one hand the number of times he had uttered it in the last twenty-six years and now… “Hayden!”

The older boy – who he now realized was no one else but _him –_ caught up with the nine years old who was laughing without a care in the world despite their depressing surroundings. He had forgotten how loud his baby brother could laugh. Even when a fourteen year-old Haymitch shoved a handful of snow in his face, Hayden laughed, wriggling away to make a snowball of his own.

“He can’t hear you.”

Haymitch whirled around and stared at the woman who was now standing right behind him, in a spot that he was _sure_ had been empty a second ago. She was wearing a black and white woolen dress under an open coat and a red scarf. He noticed the clothes first because they were very _Twelve –_ at least before the war had changed things.

Her face was a stranger’s face until it wasn’t.

She just didn’t look sixteen anymore. She looked…

Her complexion was pale but it always used to be. He remembered she burned in summer, the bridge of her nose always reddened and freckles appeared on her cheeks and she used to rant and rant about that… He had found it cute – not the ranting, the ranting infuriated him, but the freckles and the sunburns. Her hair was as long and dark as he remembered it, mostly loose with only a few strands held back so it wouldn’t be a bother. She had always worn her hair like that as long as he could remember. Unless they were sneaking into the woods through the hole in the fence near the mines, in which case she would tie it up in a high ponytail and tell him to get a move on. And her eyes… Her grey eyes were full of mischief, as usual.

She looked like she should have looked had they been allowed their life together.

“I thought you would be more comfortable if I looked closer to your age.” Mabel grinned that smile that had had every boy in their grade falling in love with her. “You know… So you wouldn’t look like a creepy old man crushing on a kid.”

“Mabel.” he breathed out.

The name was almost as painful to utter as his brother’s was.

“Bitchy Mitchy.” she teased.

And the nickname was enough to make him chuckle, breaking through this strange stillness that seemed to have fallen on him. He reached for her face without really thinking about it, brushing his fingers against her cheekbones, touching her hair…

“You look _so_ _real_ …” he whispered. He hadn’t had that clear a dream in two decades.

“I am real.” she shrugged and, when he rolled his eyes, she rolled hers. “Yeah, I know. You don’t believe me. You’re too _fucking_ stubborn, that’s always been your problem.”

He was vaguely aware that his brother and his younger self had started an epic snowball fight behind him but he couldn’t really care. Not when Mabel was standing right there, her skin warm under his fingertips.

“Fine.” he humored her, happier to play along with _this_ hallucination. “You’re real. What does that make you?”

“The ghost of Christmas past.” Mabel said ominously. She gave it a second and then laughed it off. “Maysilee told you. Three spirits. I’m the first one. I’m here to remind you.”

“Of what?” he snorted. “That I lost everyone?”

She shook her head at him with obvious impatience. “You’re an _ass_ , you know?”

“I’ve missed you.” he replied. It was an explanation in itself.

She softened and ran her fingers in her long dark hair, like she always used to do when she was nervous. “I’ve missed you too.”

The dream was so real…

He didn’t really let himself hesitate before cupping her cheek or leaning in. Their lips brushed together clumsily a few times until he pressed harder, desperate for a real kiss. It was… disappointing. It felt… _wrong_.

Something was missing and he had a good idea of what it was.

She stepped back with a sad smile. “It’s alright, Haymitch. You’re not sixteen anymore.”

“I really loved you.” he swore before she could say anything else. “I tried to…”

“Do you _really_ think I expected you to remain alone your whole life? Do you really think that’s what I wanted for you?” she snapped. “You used me as an excuse. All your life your used me as an excuse not to take any chances.”

“I took chances.” he denied.

“Yeah? Name _one_.” she challenged.

_Effie_ , he almost said. But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He had never given _them_ a fair shot. He had used her and then pushed her away. He had denied her the right to have feelings for him and had mocked her when she had dared _hint_ at them. Sure, he had showed her tenderness and affection sometimes but he had never really told her how he felt. Then the war had happened and she had been left behind to be tortured and… And it had taken losing her to realize just how deep he was in. And when he had asked her to move in with him, he had made a mess of the whole thing. A salvage operation, that was what that had been. He couldn’t really blame her for accusing him of never fighting for her.

“It should have been you and me.” he argued.

It would have been easy, then. If he hadn’t been reaped… Eventually, he would have started working at the mines and he would have married her. And they would have had a typical Seam life. He would probably have died in one of the numerous cave-ins and she would have given him more children than they would have been able to feed while taking as many laundry job as she could manage. They would have worried themselves sick over it and…

“You know better.” she accused.

And maybe he did.

Because if someone offered the choice to him _now_ …

He wasn’t sure he would have exchanged whatever he didn’t have anymore with Effie for a domestic life with Mabel. It was like the kiss they had just shared. Somewhere down the line, he had outgrown that particular dream.

“I’m sorry.” he said. “It was my fault. They killed you because…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Haymitch.” she cut him off. “It was the Capitol.”

Deep down, he knew that. Very deep down. But he had never been able to let go of that guilt.

“Forgive me.” he insisted, tears burning his eyes. He blinked them away before they could freeze on his cheeks. He didn’t have a coat and it wasn’t a weather to be outside in a sweater full of holes.

“I forgive you.” She framed his face between her hands and tugged him down until he bowed enough that she could press her forehead against his. “ _Of course,_ I forgive you. I love you. But _you_ have to forgive _yourself_.”

“Haymitch! Hayden!”

His head jerked up in the direction of the call, his heart hammering inside his chest at the sound of that voice. He had forgotten that voice. All that was left was a vague echo, like a footprint in the sand of his memory.

“We should go on.” Mabel said. “You have a long night ahead and we have a lot of stops to make before I hand you over to the next one.” He barely registered that. He simply held out his arm for her to take, his eyes locked in the distance to where he could guess at the old rusty painted house he used to call home. “Look at you being all gentlemanly.” she laughed. “What? Did you confuse me with one of those Capitol girls who can’t walk without help?” His heart squeezed but he didn’t think she meant anything mean by that. Not when she grabbed his hand and gave it a strong tug. “Come on.”

In a flash, they were inside his old house. It was obvious some time had passed because his mother, his fourteen year-old self and his brother were sitting at the old wooden table, sharing what appeared to be stew. Rich stew too, not the watered down version they used to eat for most meals.

He would have loved to ask _how_ she had done this but he couldn’t speak. Not when his mother was right there, so much younger than he remembered… She had seemed old and fragile to him in his youth. But she wasn’t _that_ old, as he had realized in retrospect, the year he had turned thirty-five. The age she had been when she had died. If she had lived, she might have found another man to share her old days with, have a brand new other life…

“Can we do presents now?” Hayden asked with that toothy grin that always got him out of trouble with most people.

His mother and his younger self shared an indulgent look and she eventually nodded her assent.

“Cool!” his brother exclaimed and rushed off to the only bedroom in the house, the one the two boys shared.

With a shake of her head, his mother went to fetch two small gifts from under the single bed tucked in a corner of the room.

Fourteen year-old Haymitch was slower in standing up, the frown on his face one of worry. “I told you not to get me anything, Mama. I don’t need…”

“I can still give my son a Christmas present, Haymitch, thank you very much.” his mother chided.

Both Haymitches winced at once.

“I remember this.” he whispered for Mabel. “I took a couple of tesseraes that year. We were really tight. I think she sold some of her jewelry to buy those.”

And she hadn’t had much to sell in the first place. Her wedding ring. He thought that it was what she had sold and he remembered thinking _good riddance_. His father had long been out of the picture by then.

“She adored you.” Mabel whispered, leaning against his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Presents!” Hayden came song-singing back, with two packages tucked under his armpits.

Haymitch smiled with fondness at the boy. He tried to reach out when he passed by him but his hand went straight through as if he was a ghost. The irony.

“He was always good at swapping things, yeah?” Mabel chuckled. “He could bargain with the best of them. I remember once he managed to convince Sae to exchange him a pot of soup against a bunch of flowers from the meadow…”

“Too cute for his own good.” he snorted.

Finnick had been like that too.

They watched the three of them exchange gifts. Wrapping paper was far too expensive for something like this so the gifts were wrapped in pieces of clothing. Hayden and Haymitch had teamed up to buy their mother a new shawl that year, a brand new one that had never been worn before from the shop in town. She had gotten him a new bag for school – or poaching, which he wasn’t allowed to do but already did anyway – and she had gotten Hayden a soccer ball which the boy was ecstatic about. Haymitch had carved animals into wood for his brother and received a new pair of gloves in exchange. They were nice gloves. He remembered that much.

“You look so happy.” Mabel commented.

Not quite carefree even then, he thought, but, yeah, he looked happy.

And it hurt.

It hurt because in a little more than two years, that perfect scene of family bliss would be reduced to ashes. Literal ashes. And suddenly it was only too easy to imagine the flames licking the wall. The roof would have collapsed in minutes. And Hayden and his mother, trapped in there, sentenced to…

In a blink, the scenery changed and they were at the lake, deep into the woods.

“What the _fuck_?” he spat, whirling around. “Take me _back_. I…”

He wanted to see them again, to stare at them forever, to commit everything to memory, to…

“I told you. We have a couple of things to see.” Mabel requested. “Look at us.”

That shut him up and he looked at the direction she pointed at, not really surprised to see their younger selves recklessly gliding on the lake with makeshift skates that were far from being safe. This Haymitch was older than the last one. Sixteen or soon to be. This was the winter before the Second Quell’s Reaping.  And if he wasn’t mistaken…

On the ice, the boy grabbed the girl by the waist as she was losing her balance but it wasn’t the dashing save he had expected and they both tumbled down. He could still remember the doomed sound of the ice cracking under them and he could only watch as the two teenagers scrambled to the shore, laughing their fear off once they were back to safety.

Then the boy cupped the girl’s cheek as if it was the most natural thing in the world and he just kissed her.

He thought back to earlier, the kiss they had shared and regretted it hadn’t feel like _that one_. Mabel’s kisses used to taste like freedom even in their fenced-in District.

“It was our first kiss.” she reminded him. Her smile was wistful but not unhappy.

“Yeah?” he frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Christmas day before the Quell. Yes, I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes, slapping his arm. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been claiming to pine after my ghost for how long? And you don’t even remember our first kiss?”

He didn’t like to linger on _firsts_ and _lasts_. It was too sad.

And honestly was it _that_ important?

“You sound like…” He cut himself off and swallowed back the name at the last moment for the second time. He pursed his lips tight and reported his attention on the couple a few feet away. It didn’t seem like they would stop kissing any time soon.

“You can say her name, you know.” Mabel said quietly. “I told you. I never wanted you to be alone forever. It’s a good thing.”

“For what came out of it.” he scoffed, shaking his head.

The sixteen year-old Haymitch pulled something out of his pocket and offered it to the girl with an awkward shrug. It was a brooch, he remembered, a small one, flower-shaped that he had exchanged at the Hob against a rabbit. A folly because Mabel had been stringing him along for months and the rabbit would have been better employed cooking on their stove but… He had been crazy for that girl. _Crazy_. Hayden used to tease him at night, before bed, and even his mother smiled indulgently at him every time her name was mentioned.

Head over heels. Invincible. Intoxicated.

That what being with Mabel had felt like.

What being in love was supposed to feel like, maybe.

He remembered now.

It wasn’t supposed to make you feel scared your significant other would get killed because you got a little too affectionate in public.

And that threat was gone anyway, wasn’t it? He could have gone full out if he had wanted to. He could have done more. He could have…

“Let’s move on.” Mabel suggested.

“We could stay.” he argued. “In this memory forever. You and me. It could be good.”

She stared at him and it was sad and too knowing.

She outstretched her hand and he took it after a short moment of hesitation.

He had been expecting the change of scenery this time but their new surroundings took him aback. It took him a while to place Capitol Park in full winter mode. Well… _winter_ was relative because with the controlled weather, it was actually pleasant. The frozen lake was huge and there were a lot of people strolling along the bank, pointing at the bright decorations that seemed to be _everywhere,_ children running around, a lot of people on the ice…

“Why are we here?” he frowned.

He sure as hell had no Christmas memories in this place.

“Why do you do anything lately, Haymitch?” she mocked.

“Grandfather! Watch!” a little girl called out from the edge of the ice rink in a shrill excited voice.

She must have been ten or eleven and was clearly embracing the Christmas spirit. She was dressed all in red and green, from her coat to the dress poking out underneath, and she had a red puffy wig adorned with holly on.

“I’m watching, my little princess!” an old man promised from the edge.

He stuck out a little because he wasn’t wearing a wig and his white hair hadn’t been dyed a ridiculous color. His clothes were sensible ones to and that warmed him up to Haymitch. It was hard to find sensible people amongst the Capitols.

The man was leaning hard on a walking stick and he seemed to have known better days but there was something to him… He wasn’t sure what. The way he was watching his granddaughter maybe. Just unequivocal love and pride.

On the ice, the girl took some speed and then jumped, twirling on herself in a move that would have been more impressive if she hadn’t crashed hard on landing.

“Effie!” the man worried, taking a few steps toward the frozen lake.

And Haymitch did a double take.

The girl had already picked herself up, red in the face. She brushed the frost off her coat and politely assured she was fine when a couple skated to a stop next to her to make sure she was alright. She skated to the edge of the lake with her head held high, chin up in the air, in a defiant stance Haymitch was _very_ familiar with.

“I think I am done skating, Grandfather.” she announced, very dignified. “I hope nobody saw me. If someone tells Mother…”

“I will deal with your mother.” her grandfather grumbled.

What was his name? Haymitch was certain he _knew_ the guy’s name. It must have started with a _T_. There was a flowery _T_ branded on the flask Effie had gifted him with many years ago and it had belonged to her grandfather. He was sure he had heard her say the name before. 

“Still.” Effie insisted, clearing her throat pointedly. “It is rather childish, isn’t it? Ice skating. Not really befitting of a lady.”

“You love ice skating.” the old man pointed out, handing her small heeled boots he had obviously been keeping safe for her. “And you should never just quit something because you failed once. You should always reach for the stars, my little princess.”

The girl pouted but then a beaming smile stretched her lips. “Can we have some hot chocolate?”

“If you wish.” her grandfather humored her.

Haymitch was fascinated and he followed them close, listening to their conversation about a Christmas party her mother was throwing. Her grandfather was explaining why he didn’t want to attend and Effie was trying to convince him by sulking and declaring it would be a _dreadful_ Christmas if he wasn’t around.

The lady behavior had already been ingrained into her, he could tell because it came out now and then, but her grandfather was very good at breaking her out of that code, at luring the child out… Effie laughed and beamed and talked a mile a minute…

She was so happy…

“Oh, I do _love_ Christmas!” she exclaimed several times.

He was so enthralled in watching that innocent part of her that he startled when Mabel placed a hand on his shoulder.

Without transition they went from Capitol Park to the kind of interior design he had come to associate with wealthy uptight Capitols.

“Where are we?” he asked but it became obvious once he spotted the people.

They were in a parlor of sort – not a living-room because there was nothing _living_ about the room, it was all white and cream as if the colors had washed out despite the bright decorations hanging everywhere – where a huge Christmas tree dominated the room.

He had crossed paths with Effie’s parents one time or two at parties but they never failed to rub him off the wrong way. Right then, they were sitting on the immaculate couch, backs straight as rods, face set in blank masks. Effie looked older than in the previous memory although it might have been the make-up she already had on. She was curled up on one of the armchairs, a sea of opened presents discarded at her feet, and she was obviously… Well… Not _there_.

Another girl was still passing presents around and even though her identity was obvious, it took him a few seconds to identify her sister.

“Why are you showing me this?” he insisted, ill-at-ease with how Effie looked. The last time he had seen her that upset… She had been lying half-dead in a hospital bed and he had been confessing _everything_ from how he had failed to get her to safety to Thirteen being the ones who had really been bombing the children.

“Because you need to understand.” Mabel shrugged.

“Understand what?” he scowled.

“This one is for you, Effie.” Lyssandra said, almost hesitantly, carefully holding a square box wrapped in glittery gold paper. “It’s from grandfather.”

Effie’s blue eyes immediately filled with tears and she curled up a little more on the armchair as if her sister had literally punched her in the chest. Her mother pursed her lips with disapproval but uncharacteristically held her tongue and didn’t scold her for what Haymitch was sure wasn’t ladylike behavior. Her father placed a hand on the Capitol’s woman leg and awkwardly patted it a few times.   

“So, what’s going on?” he frowned. “She’s upset ‘cause her grandfather didn’t come this year?”

Her eleven year-old self had certainly seemed to think I would be the _worst_ Christmas ever if he didn’t show up and she could be such a little spoiled brat… One look at the amount of expensive presents at her feet was enough to confirm that.

“Not exactly.” Mabel hummed sadly.

Effie reverently took the box from her sister without a word and carefully unwrapped it, making sure not to damage the paper or the ribbon. She placed both aside for safekeeping before opening what seemed to be a small music box. He was very familiar with that music box. It was always on her dresser in her apartment – or it used to be before the war, at least, he had no idea what had happened to it during the rebellion, her place had been ransacked and anything of value stolen so… – she kept mementoes in it. It wasn’t unlike his own metal box except he had made fun of her plenty of times for it, calling her a sentimental fool.

There were two rectangular golden tickets inside the music box, the kind that gave access to almost every Victory Tour events. They were branded with an ominous _50 th _that told him everything he needed to know. This was his year’s Games. And thus she was twelve. 

“I disapprove, naturally.” her mother said suddenly when Effie brushed her fingers on the golden tickets as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “But your grandfather insisted and bought them despite my wishes so… He intended to take you obviously but… Well.”

“I will go with you.” Lyssandra promised, kneeling next to Effie’s armchair, her face so earnest, so desperate to bring comfort…

Effie burst out in tears. Fat ugly sobs that wrecked her small body and tears that ran down her cheeks in an unending flow…

“Now, now, Euphemia…” her mother sighed. “Do not upset yourself so. It is not becoming of…”

She ran out of the room, clutching the music box to her chest. A door slammed upstairs a few seconds later.

Her mother’s lips were pursed so tight it looked like she almost didn’t have a mouth anymore. Her father’s hand was less hesitant when he reached for his wife this time.

As for Lyssandra, she simply gathered the golden wrapping paper and the ribbon and carefully put them aside – Haymitch assumed it was to give them to her sister later – looking sad but nowhere near as grief-stricken as Effie had been.

“You need to understand she knows great loss too.” Mabel whispered eventually.

He hadn’t needed Mabel to tell him that. He had sat next to her for too many Games, had watched her deal with too many dead kids. He knew she knew what loss felt like. They both did. Nobody who had been involved in the Games had escaped that.

_But it wasn’t that personal…_ that annoying voice of reason whispered at the back of his head. _How many times did you tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about when she tried to comfort you? How many times have you accused her of never having been unhappy a single day in her life?_

“Let’s get out of here.” he scowled. “Please.” He couldn’t take much more of Effie being heartbroken. He had been the one breaking her heart too many times before. He couldn’t deal with seeing her like that, twelve or not. He just wanted to see her happy, like in that first memory. More than that he wanted to _make_ her happy. “I’ve had enough.”

“There is only one left.” she promised.

“No.” he snapped. “I want to wake up _now._ Enough of this _bullshit_. I’m done walking down memory lane. It’s…”

The parlor disappeared and the next thing he knew he was standing in a room he had never thought he would see again.

The bedroom he had been living in when he was at the Training Center’s penthouse. His home away from home, as he used to joke.

And wasn’t it just _great_ already. His thirty-five year old self and Effie were naked in bed together. They were done with whatever they had been up to, _thankfully_ , and the sheets kept them mostly decent but that wasn’t something he had ever wanted _Mabel_ to see.

“Seriously?” he spat, barely covering the sound of Effie’s giggles.

He hadn’t been in the city that many times for Victory Tours and he placed that one instantly. It was during the 70th Tour, Annie’s Games, when numerous victors from every District had been dragged back to the city for the season because the Gamemakers _badly_ needed a distraction from the disaster that was Annie’s public appearances.

“Hey, don’t blame me.” Mabel grumbled. “That’s what _you_ needed to watch. It’s not like _I_  really wanted to see that.”

In the bed, Effie was trying to wriggle free but thirty-five year old Haymitch – still reeling from his recent birthday and the knowledge that he was now older than his mother when she had died  and thus feeling a little out of sort and acting out even more than usual – was refusing to let her go. He had his arms locked tight around her waist and was keeping her there, his face pressed against her shoulder blade to hide the smile that threatened to burst forth so painfully…

Oh, he remembered this Christmas _very well_.   

“You think it’s the best Christmas you ever had.” Mabel told him.

He scoffed. “Wasn’t _the_ _best_.”

“Why are you always so ready to deny everything when it comes to her?” she retorted, straight to the point.

Haymitch shut up and focused on what was happening in the bed. It was rather innocent. Effie was giggling and struggling to escape, he was very determined to keep her in bed.

“Come on, Haymitch!” the escort chuckled at last. “I cannot be late to my mother’s Christmas party.”

“Skip it.” his younger self demanded.

Effie’s laugh, this time, was more insecure than happy. “She will send a search party after me, you realize.”

“Just call her and tell her you’re feeling sick.” he grumbled. “Tell her you’re gonna spend the day in bed. Which you are.”

“Haymitch…” she sighed.

“Look. You’re gonna go. You’re gonna come back in a couple of hours all upset and miserable ‘cause your mother’s a bitch and you’re gonna ask me to _fuck_ you into the new year. We’re gonna be back right here in this bed. See? I’m saving you some time.” he scoffed.

“Charming.” Effie scowled.

“You’ve got _such_ a way with words, Haymitch…” Mabel teased.

The two Haymitch rolled their eyes at the same time.

“You can either go and be bored or you can stay with me all day and have fun.” his younger self shrugged. “The way I see it…”

“I wonder what sort of fun you could possibly be up to.” Effie mocked, watching him over her shoulder. “We already did it twice.”

“Can get you through a third and a fourth and then I’m gonna be _up_ alright.” he replied in the same tone, wriggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, so you will make sure I have a _very_ good time, is that right?” Effie asked, lifting her own eyebrows. “Why, it must _really_ be Christmas.”

Haymitch snorted at his younger self’s pouting. It was mostly fake pouting because it had been a long time at that point since he had left her unsatisfied but… _Fuck_ , he missed the easy sexy banter.  

“Christmas naked in bed together with champagne.” thirty-five year-old Haymitch insisted, making it sound more enticing than it probably was.

Effie clearly hesitated and then flopped back down on the bed with impossible grace, a long slender leg slipping out from under the sheets. She was barely decent now. If he moved to the left he would have had a fair view of her breasts.

Mabel had moved a little back. To give them privacy, he figured.

“Well, if there is champagne…” Effie grinned, her blue eyes sparkling in happiness.

Haymitch was shocked to realize his younger self was watching her the exact same way. He was watching her as if she was the only woman for him in the whole world. And it was so obvious he was starting to understand what Chaff and Finnick had been teasing him about all those years.

He hadn’t known he had already been in love with her at that point.

“You’re cheap.” thirty-five year-old Haymitch accused with a smirk.

Her only answer was to coil a hand at the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss that immediately got dirty.

Haymitch could see tongues from where he was and he shook his head at their antics, unable to ignore the pinching in his heart. He yearned for _this_. Kissing Effie, joking with her, teasing her… It wasn’t even the sex he missed the most although that had been exceptional, it was the… The _partnership_. How easy it had been to be together even when they were furious enough to try to strangle each other. He trusted her. And he didn’t trust many people. It was comfortable. _Easy_. Safe.  

“Can we go now or do you want the full show?” he grumbled because hands were in places now and the sheets wouldn’t cover the action much longer.

“In a second.” Mabel commented and, surely enough, Effie broke the kiss.

“I think I was promised champagne.” she giggled.

“ _Now_?” thirty-five year-old Haymitch groaned.

“A small break would do us both good if you truly intend to keep that up all day.” she deadpanned. She must have squeezed something under the sheets because young Haymitch jumped and tossed her a look that was in between a glare and a tolerant gaze. “Bring me champagne, Haymitch.”

Haymitch could see the clogs turning in his younger self’s head. He had never liked being ordered around and tended to resist her demands at any given opportunity. Sometimes just because he didn’t want to appear as whipped as he truly was.

This time, he gave in though and pushed the sheets away to step out of bed in all the glory of his birthday suit. “So _fucking_ bossy.”

“Now, _that,_ I’m not sorry to see.” Mabel grinned and Haymitch awkwardly rubbed his neck, red in the face.

On the bed, Effie watched him go and, once she was alone, she stared at the ceiling, grinning like a fool and eventually pulled the sheet all the way over her head as if to hide from her own foolishness. It was such a girlish behavior… She looked so in love… Had she looked _that_ in love all the time? Had _he_?

“Effie.” he whispered, taking a step toward the bed, suddenly feeling _sick_ because he missed her _so much…_

But the Effie in the bed didn’t hear him. She eventually pushed the sheet off with a huff and a shake of her head at her behavior and snatched a white long-sleeve shirt off the floor. It didn’t exactly keep her decent. It was long enough but a bit see-through and if Haymitch remembered right they had never gotten around to drinking the champagne he had poured them in the living-room because the moment he had seen her wearing his shirt he had _pounced_. They had rolled under the giant Christmas tree for hours. He remembered watching the twinkling lights tossing red and green shadows on her face.

It _had_ been his best Christmas.

It had been a rare good day.

“I like her.” Mabel said quietly and then rolled her eyes. “Sure, you could have found someone who wasn’t _Capitol_  or _an escort_ but… I like her. She’s good for you.”

“Too bad I’m not good for her.” he scowled.

“Aren’t you?” she asked sadly. “I think she needs you just as much as you need her.” He wasn’t exactly alarmed when she stepped closer but he tensed a little, only relaxing when she cupped his cheek and leaned in. The kiss was chaste, an innocent brush of her lips against his. “Goodbye, Bitchy Mitchy.”

He frowned at that, trying to wrap his arms around her, to hold her back…

He woke up with a start.

* * *

 

**4\. The Ghost Of Christmas Present**

* * *

 

 Haymitch sat up on his couch where he had obviously passed out, his grey eyes peering out in the darkness, trying to identify every shadow… His heart was hammering in his chest and he had a strange taste in his mouth. He brushed his fingers against his tingling lips…

He could still feel Mabel’s kiss.

He could…

He breathed out a long steady breath, glancing at the dying fire. What a _fucking_ dream… He glared at the bottle of moonshine that was still propped against the couch’s cushion and kicked it to the corner of the room, swearing he would _never_ buy his liquor at that store again. Whatever was in there, it couldn’t be only alcohol.

What a _fucking_ dream…

The lights turned off abruptly. The lamp overhead, the fireplace… He was left in the dark again and his heart started racing once more… The icy draft of air made the hair at the back of his neck rise, he was sure his skin was covered in goosebump…

“Mabel?” he whispered, feeling stupid for doing so.

The draft of freezing air blew on the side of his face and Haymitch tensed…

“Boo!” someone shouted directly in his ear.

He jumped on his feet right as the lights came back up, clutching his heart and glaring hard at the intruder.

It was probably a testament to the rest of the night that he didn’t think twice about how impossible it was for that boy to be there. Finnick was laughing his ass off as if the joke was _hilarious_. He actually dropped on the couch, bent in two and holding his stomach.

“Seriously?” Haymitch asked for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“Sorry, sorry…” Finnick kept on laughing, looking up at him, his green eyes full of tears of mirth. “I couldn’t help myself.” The boy flashed him his trademark wolfish grin and Haymitch swallowed hard in hope the lump in his throat would disappear. “How are you doing, Haymitch?”

“I’m having a _fucking_ acid trip.” he deadpanned. “Aside from that… You know… Same old. What about you, kid? Still dead?”

“Very dead.” Finnick grinned as if, this too, was the best joke.

“Just checking.” he shrugged. “So… What does that make you? Let me guess… You’re the ghost of Christmas Present.”

“Yep.” the kid confirmed, making the _p_ pop. “Before I forget… Chaff and Mags say hi and stop being an idiot, please and thank you.”

“And what? They couldn’t make the trip?” he mocked. “Too bad. Could have been a party.”

Finnick’s face turned a little more serious. “I really wanted to be the one to come.” The boy clapped his hands once, the devilish grin bursting forth again, and stood up. “Shall we go?”

“Where?” Haymitch frowned. “’Cause I don’t really care for another trip down my depressing past.”

Finnick rolled his eyes and waved at himself. “Ghost of Christmas Present, here. Keyword: _Present_. Come on, let’s go.”

Did he have a choice? It hadn’t felt like it with Mabel so he simply followed the boy when he let himself out of the house, hoping it would be brief – and that he would wake up soon. The weather outside wasn’t as bad as the noises made it sound in his living-room. He was honestly surprised because he had fully expected to walk into a blizzard. Another proof that it was all a dream, he figured.

“The storm looks bad from your house because of us.” Finnick explained without him having to ask.

Haymitch studied him suspiciously. “Can you read my mind?”

The boy wriggled his eyebrows. “Do you really want to know?”

The answer to that was _not really_ so Haymitch kept his peace, frowning a little when he realized where they were headed. “The kids’ house?”

“Yeah.” Finnick nodded. “You need to see.”

“Lots of stuff dead people think I need to see, seems like.” he sneered. 

Finnick tossed him a look but didn’t comment. Four’s victor let himself inside the kids’ house but if Katniss and Peeta heard anything, they didn’t let on.  Haymitch followed him to the living-room where the kids were huddled together in front of the fire, a fur blanket draped over their laps. Katniss was clutching a mug of what looked like hot chocolate between her hands and Peeta was lazily poking the fire. There was another mug next to him and a plate full of Christmas cookies.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asked when he glimpsed Katniss’ thoughtful face.

“Nothing.” the girl sighed. “Just… you know. Haymitch.”

The boy’s face grew somber, worried. “I tried, Katniss.”

“I know.” the girl shrugged. “It’s just… He’s getting worse.”

Haymitch’s jaw clenched and he looked down at his feet, feeling both guilty and ashamed for making them worry. It wasn’t the kids’ job to take care of _him_ , it was _his job_ to take care of them. And lately… He had been making a mess of that.

“He’s drinking a lot.” the boy agreed. “I mean… He’s always drunk a lot but _this_ , lately…”

Katniss cleared her throat. “I think he’s lonely. Christmas can make that worse.”

That was more insightful than he would have given the girl credit for.

“I’m not sure it’s just Christmas.” Peeta countered. “Since we’ve been back… I don’t know. Something’s _off_ with him, real or not real?”

“Real. I think.” she scowled, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “I don’t think he wanted to come back here. When we were in Thirteen… He couldn’t even _look_ at pictures from Twelve.”

“You think he feels guilty about the bombing?” the boy asked.

Katniss shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do you?” Finnick asked, placing a hand on Haymitch’s shoulder. His shrug echoed the girl’s. Yeah, he did. _Of course_ , he did. He should have thought of that. He should have planned better, insisted that Thirteen got ready to defend the civilian or… _something_. Four’s victor looked at him with sympathy. “You can’t control everything, Haymitch. You did the best you could.”

“Wasn’t enough to save you, was it?” he hissed.

“That’s not on you either.” Finnick shook his head. “You weren’t even there.”

“ _Yeah_. Exactly.” he muttered.

“Haymitch…” his friend sighed.

“Maybe it’s more complicated than that.” Peeta frowned. “I just… I caught him staring at the bangle the other day…”

Haymitch made a face and automatically covered the battered token he still wore on his left wrist with his other hand. It wasn’t exactly conspicuous as far as jewelry went.

“I don’t get why he’s still carrying that thing around.” Katniss scowled, reaching for a cookie shaped like a Christmas tree and covered in green frosting. “It’s _damn_ ugly.”

“Maybe _that’s_ the problem.” the boy mused and, when Katniss looked at him with incomprehension, he clarified. “Maybe it’s all about Effie?”

“Oh, come on!” Haymitch sputtered, feeling his face reddening. “They don’t have anything else to do than gossip about my sex life?”

Finnick buried his hands in the pockets of his pants and gave him an innocent shrug. “Maybe you’re not as subtle about that as you think you are.”

“Effie?” Katniss repeated. “He hates her. I mean… I know he and Plutarch had to do some sort of bargaining with the rebels to keep her safe because… You know. The Purge.”

“ _Does_ he hate her though?” the boy insisted thoughtfully.

“He doesn’t want her dead.” she replied. “That’s as good as it gets with them.”

Peeta’s gaze was lost in the distance and he had a faraway look on his face. Haymitch tensed because that was a dead giveaway that an episode was around the corner but the boy eventually shook his head and flashed Katniss a small smile. The signs hadn’t escaped her either and she looked ready to bolt.

“When I was in the Capitol…” the boy started slowly. “Everything is very blurry before they… Before they reprogrammed me. I don’t remember much. Flashes and bits and pieces… I can’t tell if it’s real or not.”

“Okay.” Katniss said slowly, grabbing his hand. “You don’t have to think about this.”

“No, I’m fine. What I meant is… I _think_ they kept bringing Haymitch up with Effie.” he hesitated. “They said…” He frowned, clearly trying hard to remember, and then winced and shook his head again. “It’s gone.”

“It’s okay.” she repeated.

Peeta flashed her a small smile. “I think there was something between them.”

“ _Fucking_ meddling kids…” Haymitch mumbled under his breath.

“Haymitch and Effie?” Katniss scoffed. “No way.”

“ _Right_.” Finnick mocked. “It’s good to know she hasn’t changed.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Peeta sighed. “But I _think_ so. Maybe that’s why he’s so miserable.”

“It’s Haymitch.” Katniss argued. “He doesn’t need an excuse to be miserable.”

“He drinks too much though.” the boy insisted. “I agree with you there. Maybe we should have an intervention.”

“Sure, that’ll go well.” she deadpanned.

They reached for the same cookie at the same time and Peeta snatched it away with a teasing grin, their old mentor clearly forgotten for now.

Haymitch watched them behave like normal kids their age for a few seconds but turned away when they started kissing. He had a good idea of where the kissing would lead. The fireplace’s glow, the blankets in front of it, the picnic dessert… He knew a romantic setting when he saw one.

“I’ve seen enough. I get it. They’re right. I’ve been slipping too deep down the bottle again. I’m gonna get it under control. Lesson learned.” he told Finnick. “Can I go home now?”

“Not yet.” Four’s victor refused. “We have two more stops to make.”

“No offense but they’re the only people I have now so… Ghost of Christmas Present? Probably the easiest job.” he snorted.

Finnick lifted mocking eyebrows and, just like that, the kids’ house vanished and they were in another living-room, where there was no fireplace and where the windows were open wide to let the fresh night air come in. It was always hot in Four. Summer or winter.

Finnick let go of his arm and made a beeline for the couch on which Annie was sitting, her baby on her lap. She was laughing hard, waving a small Christmas star above little Finn’s face to keep her son occupied, while she watched Johanna try and fail to wrap a toy box in glittery paper. There was tape and ribbon everywhere and the few gifts already wrapped and wedged under the Christmas tree in the corner looked like they had been wrapped by a two years old.

Johanna was sitting on the floor, scowling, tape in her hair.

“It’s not _fucking_ funny! Stop laughing!” Seven’s victor snapped. “What’s the _fucking_ point of wrapping  gifts anyway? Ain’t like he will know _fucking_ better!”

“It’s tradition.” Annie argued.

Haymitch’s eyebrows shot up because he would never have imagined Johanna living in a house full-on decorated for Christmas. He had called Four a few times but he hadn’t really kept properly in touch.

“Are we here for me or for you?” he asked the boy who had perched himself on the couch’s armrest and was staring at his son with wide eyes as if he couldn’t take enough of the baby.

“It was one of the perks.” Finnick whispered. “It was supposed to be Chaff. He means more to you. But…”

“You mean a _fucking_ lot to me, kid.” Haymitch protested and then closed his eyes. _“Meant_.”

“Heard from Twelve?” Jo mumbled once she had managed to make the glittery red paper _stick_ around the box. She pushed the gift under the tree and moved on to the next one.

Finn was clearly spoiled.

“I called Katniss to thank them for the gift.” Annie hummed, drumming her fingers against the baby’s tummy. Oh. So the kids had sent a gift. Maybe he should have thought about that too. After all, the baby was only a few months old and he had promised himself he would keep an eye out for Finnick and… “I didn’t hear from Haymitch.”

Jo snorted bitterly. “Might have broken his phone again. Or he doesn’t care much about us.”

“That’s not true.” he protested, forgetting they couldn’t hear him.

“I’ll tell you who else he doesn’t care much about.” Jo continued, harsh. “ _Trinket_. She hasn’t heard from him either.”

“Oh, did you call her already?” Annie asked, looking up at Jo. “Did you remember to thank her? That Christmas romper she sent is so cute…” 

“Yeah, yeah…” Johanna dismissed. “Not the point. Point is… I told her to get her ass over here again. She won’t come. Stubborn _bitch_.”

Haymitch frowned and looked at Finnick for an explanation but the young man was lost to his own world, making his fingers dance over Annie’s shoulder, making faces at his son… The baby’s attention was on him too and Haymitch wondered if babies could see ghosts. Or whatever they were.

Not that he was beginning to think this was more than a dream. ‘Cause…

Annie looked concerned by Johanna’s words. “Do you think she’s alright? She won’t do… _something stupid_ , right? Because last time I spoke to her…”

“I think it’s _fucking_ good she can’t afford sleeping pills.” Jo sneered. “She used to pop them like candies. You think… Maybe I should just go up there and drag her back with me.”

Annie actually _considered_  it, which made Haymitch very wary. What were they talking about? According to the kids, Effie was living the dream. A new huge apartment, a new boyfriend, a new awesome job in the television industry…

“I think it has to come from her.” Annie finally sighed. “But if she doesn’t get better… Then, _yes_ , we should visit her. Maybe stage an intervention. We could ask Katniss and Peeta.”

“Don’t think _they_ know how bad it is.” Jo shook her head. “Stubborn _bitch_.” she spat again. “I _fucking_ hate her.”

“No, you don’t.” Annie countered.

Finn started fussing a little and she hummed him a cheerful Christmas song. And the conversation about Effie was dropped.

The mood was joyful in the living-room, more joyful than Haymitch had ever thought a cohabitation between Annie and Jo could be.

“What’s wrong with Effie?” he asked after several minutes, respectful of Finnick’s wish to watch them but also a little worried.

“Give me a moment.” Four’s victor requested. He hovered behind Jo for a moment and reached for her shoulder but his hand went straight through, just like when Haymitch had tried to grab his brother earlier. A small dejected smile stretched the boy’s lips. “Thanks for taking care of them, Jo.” Johanna gave no indication that she had felt anything at all. She kept on bitching about the presents Annie was forcing her to wrap. Finnick moved back to the couch and crouched in front of Annie. He brushed a kiss against the baby’s forehead. “I love you, Finn. So much.” He cleared his throat, licked his lips and finally looked at his wife. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

“Merry Christmas.” Annie answered, staring back at him, her eyes full of tears.

“Yeah, no _shit_ it’s _fucking_ merry for you.” Jo scowled, oblivious to what was going on. “You get to watch me do all the work.”

Finnick and Annie stared at each other for the longest time. It looked physically painful when the boy finally stood up and tore himself away from his wife and child to walk toward Haymitch.

Haymitch had a lump in his throat again.

It wasn’t fair.

So not _fucking_ fair.

“They’re happy.” Finnick said firmly. “The three of them, they’re happy and safe. That’s all that matters to me. That’s why I fought. That’s why I died. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“Kid, you’ve got to stop the mind reading.” Haymitch winced. “That’s _fucking_ _creepy_.”

“I’m not reading your mind. It’s all over your face.” the boy accused, tossing a last look at them over his shoulder. “They’re happy. That’s good. I’m good.” He reached for Haymitch’s arm again but let his hand hover. “You should check on them more, you know.”

“Yeah.” he admitted. He would call them. It was the first thing he would do when he would _finally_ wake up from this weird trip. He would call Four and he would make more of an effort to keep in touch.

Finnick nodded. “Good. You’re ready for what comes next? Last stop with me, then I’m handing you over. What came before… That was the easy part.”

“ _Fucking_ great.” he deadpanned. “Don’t suppose we can just skip the rest and go have a drink, yeah?”

Finnick’s only answer was to grab his arm.    

Haymitch sighed when Four’s living-room faded away to morph into… He was pretty sure it was another living-room but it looked… Well, truthfully it looked like a _shithole_. The brown paint was peeling off the walls, the furniture was clearly secondhand and sparse, sirens and noises kept filtering through the closed window… The only light in the room came from a small lamp in the corner and the glow of the TV. The living-room was separated from the tiny kitchen by a counter next to which a lone frayed stool waited. The kitchen didn’t look much better and he dreaded to think what the rest of the place was like.

It was still better than the shack he had grown up in but it wasn’t ranking a lot higher in places he would have liked to live in.

There was no hint of Christmas in the room except for a ridiculously tiny plastic Christmas tree on the scratched coffee table. The tree wasn’t higher than the bottle of vodka next to it.

“Where are we?” he asked slowly.

But he already knew.

Because next to the bottle of vodka and the half-full glass, there was a battered cigarette packet on top of which rested a silver lighter with _E.T._ branded on it. And that lighter he would have recognized anywhere.

He felt his stomach churn.

“Take me back home.” he ordered, turning to Finnick. The boy was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, and was apparently waiting, face grim. “Take me back, Finnick.”

“You need to see.” the kid countered.

“I’ve seen enough, alright?” he snapped. “I _get_ it. I’ll call Plutarch so he can find out what’s going on. I’ll…”

He shut up abruptly when he spotted her. How he had missed her before, he wasn’t sure. She was toying with the telephone in the corner, lifting the receiver only to place it back down, nervously bringing a cigarette to her lips with shaky fingers.

She was wearing a pink nightgown, her blond hair was loose but shorter than he remembered, it curled a little past her chin, she was far too thin. She had been skinny after her rescue, _starved_ , but she had been supposed to be gaining back weight – he knew that for sure because he had stood there enough times, listening to the nurses rebuking her for not finishing her tray in the hospital. She had been putting on some weight when he had left the Capitol with Katniss.

Right then she looked… _Not healthy_.

With a sigh, she dropped the phone one last time and went to the kitchen. The apartment was so small it only took her a couple of seconds. She opened a cupboard that was alarmingly empty and fished out a packet of cheap Christmas cookies, the kind of brand of pastries she would never have touched before because they weren’t fresh and were full of calories and what not. She opened it and fished a cookie before placing the packet back in the cupboard.

There were no traces of dirty plates or anything remotely hinting at the fact she had had an actual meal that night. She didn’t seem like she was planning on eating. He wondered how much of it had to do with leftovers from starvation and how much was because of how financially tight she was.

_That_ was obvious.

The place she lived in, the state of the furniture, the cheap brand of vodka on the table, the cookies that came from a grocery store instead of a bakery…

“What happened to her?” he whispered, horrified.

Had this been going on since he had left? She had lied to the kids.

_Of course,_ she had lied to the kids. Who was he kidding? He should have known better. He should have…

“The government seized her bank accounts as compensation for her crimes.” Finnick explained. “She’s pretty much ruined. And… other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” he insisted, studying her.

She was tipsy. That much was clear. But then again, given the way she downed what was left of vodka in her glass and with only half a cookie in her stomach, he was surprised she wasn’t completely drunk yet. She took another shaky drag of her cigarette.

“It’s not a good night for her tonight.” Finnick defended her. “She’s holding on better usually. But _Christmas_ … She used to love it too much.”

“What other stuff?” he repeated in a growl.

“She’s alone.” the boy shrugged. “And you can send Plutarch all you want, that’s not who she wants to see. What do you think he’s going to do anyway? He can find her a job and a better place to live but he won’t help her fix what’s broken inside. It’s her family she needs, Haymitch, don’t you get it? She needs Peeta and Katniss. She needs _you_. She needs to find a place to heal.”

“I tried.” he snapped. “She wouldn’t…”

“She was angry and hurt.” Finnick cut him off. “It’s been a year. You didn’t try again.”

“Maybe I wasn’t brave enough to get rejected again.” he sneered bitterly but it sounded cowardly anyway.

“She was always braver than you when it came to feelings.” the boy acknowledged, nodding at her.

Haymitch’s eyes darted from him to her a couple of times but when she marched toward the phone again, chin proudly jutted high in the air like the little girl who had just crashed on the ice pond, he couldn’t look away. That was the Effie Trinket he knew. Proud to the point of arrogance.

She picked up the phone and typed the numbers very fast, as if she was afraid of losing her nerves.

The hand that was holding the cigarette was shaking so badly now that she almost burned herself.

Clearly whoever she was calling wasn’t answering because she hung up and licked her lips before trying again.

“Come on…” she whispered. “Please… Pick up. Pick up.”

With a sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach, Haymitch remembered the phone ringing earlier that night. The calls that had gone on forever and that he hadn’t bothered to answer.

“Please, Haymitch…” she insisted, her lips wobbling a little. “I need you. _Please_.”

“I’m here.” he said, stepping as close as he could, reaching for her face… His hand went straight through. “ _Fuck_ this. _Fuck_ _this_. You got to Annie. Why…”

“’Cause Annie’s special.” Finnick shrugged. “She’s not entirely sane. And _I_ ’m dead. That helps.”

“But…” he argued, watching, helpless, as Effie collapsed on the floor, sobbing her heart out. He crouched next to her. “Sweetheart, I’m right here. I’m coming for you. I swear. You hear me? I’m coming for you. I’ve got you. Sweetheart…”

She cried and cried, ugly sobs that looked painful…

“We need to go now.” Finnick said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he snarled. “You _can_ be sorry. _Fucking_ look at her! She’s your friend too. Just let me…”

“I don’t make the rules.” the boy replied. “We need to go. He’s coming.”

“Who?” he frowned.

“Death.” Finnick declared and it chilled Haymitch to the bones. He wanted to ask what the boy meant but before he could  say anything the kid smiled. “Merry Christmas, Haymitch.”

Haymitch woke up in his living-room.

* * *

 

**5\. The Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come**

* * *

He didn’t bother trying to figure out if everything was real or not this time around. He bolted off the couch, barely noticing the fuming ashes in the fireplace, the lack of lights or how cold it was in the house. He dashed to the kitchen and the phone, pressing it against his ear while he wrecked his brain for Effie’s number and realized with a start that he didn’t know her new one.

It didn’t matter.

The kids would know.

The wind sounded so strong the whole house seemed to be shaking with the strength of the blizzard but Haymitch didn’t let that stop him, remembering only too well that it hadn’t been that bad with Finnick at his side. He didn’t think to grab a coat or anything, he just ran out, letting the door slam shut behind him…

And he walked straight into the fucking snow storm of the century…

He couldn’t see anything. Waves of snow hit him in the face, the wind pushed him one way and then the other… He tried to walk back but he couldn’t even guess at the shape of his house.

With chattering teeth, he hugged himself and pushed in the vague direction he thought the kids’ house to be, cursing his own stupidity. He had let those weird dreams get to him and now he would die in a snow storm and the kids would find him frozen stiff and blue in the morning.

Merry Christmas indeed.

A human shape flashed ahead and Haymitch’s hopes rose up.

“Hey!” he called out but his voice was lost to the storm. “Wait! Help! _Hey_!”

He trudged forward, sometimes stumbling and falling to his knees but always pushing himself back up. The mysterious figure seemed to mock him. It hovered out of reach, waiting for him to catch up only to disappear again, leading him on a merry chase.

He was so cold…

He didn’t really notice the smell was weird until the storm abruptly stopped, leaving him standing in front of Twelve’s new graveyard, the pale winter sun making the glint of the snow on the ground almost blinding. It had been night a second ago. _Hadn’t it_?

But the smell…

Oh, the smell…

He almost _gagged_ with the strength of it.

It reeked of roses. White roses to be specific.

“No.” he muttered. “That’s _fucking_ enough. I don’t…”

He turned around and almost shouted in fear at finding Coriolanus Snow just an inch behind him. In his haste to scramble back, he slipped and fell hard on his ass.

The dead President was all in black, which only made the white rose on his lapel more striking. There wasn’t a hair on Haymitch’s body that didn’t rise when the man’s gaze lowered on him.

_Watch out for the third one… He gives me the creeps_ Maysilee had said.

_Death_ , Finnick had claimed.

Oh, Haymitch was so _fucked_.

Rationally speaking, he knew he could probably take Snow. The man was _ancient –_ not to mention _dead_ – but the fear… The fear was primitive and brutal and he wasn’t entirely sure it was _truly_ Snow standing right there.

He crawled back when the President took a step forward, he twisted his body and got to his feet.

He ran into the graveyard because it was the only close possible escape way. He sidestepped tombstones, leaped over graves with an agility he hadn’t possessed since he had been sixteen and running for his life…

There were people ahead and he headed there, thinking to alert them to _whatever_ it was that was calmly but surely walking after him in an odd distorted chase.

He froze when he realized who they were.

Johanna and Annie were walking away, both holding the hands of a little boy who couldn’t be more than two years old.

_The Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come_ , then.

After a moment, Katniss followed behind them, angrily wiping at her cheeks.

“Don’t go that way!” he shouted after them even though he knew they wouldn’t be able to hear him. They walked past Snow who was still heading toward him, unhurried, and apparently uncaring for anyone who wasn’t him.

“I am sorry it had to be today.” Peeta said and Haymitch turned back to see what the _hell_ was going on. The boy and Effie were standing next to a freshly dug grave. “Funerals on Christmas Eve… It’s not the best timing.”

“Well, that was Haymitch for you.” Effie chuckled and it would have sounded cheerful if it hadn’t been so _damn_ hollow. “He never had _any_ respect for schedules.”

Peeta snorted without any amusement.

Haymitch felt sick. The name engraved on the tombstone at the mouth of the open grave… It was _his_.

And he jumped out of his skin again when Snow finally caught up with him, standing _far_ too close for comfort. The dead president didn’t attack him though. He simply watched the boy and Effie.

“You always were a creepy _asshole_.” Haymitch accused.

If Snow heard, he didn’t let on.

“I understand you are the one who found him.” Effie said slowly. “I am sorry.”

“The number of times I joked I would find him dead in a puddle of his own sick…” Peeta scoffed and then passed a hand over his face, blue eyes suspiciously shiny. “I always tried to be the first one in the house lately, you know. It just… It was getting _very bad_. I didn’t want Katniss… Seeing him like that, it would have destroyed her.”

Effie’s features remained schooled into something resembling detachment but Haymitch saw the cracks in the mask. He knew her too well.

“That was thoughtful of you.” she observed and then licked her lips. “I wish… I wish you had called me when it started getting out of hand.”

It wasn’t a reproach, not really. At least it wasn’t voiced as such but…

“You have your boyfriend and your job…” Peeta said defensively. “It wasn’t your place to take care of him anymore.”

“My boyfriend and my job. Yes.” she repeated in a broken whisper. Because it was a lie. Nothing but a lie. She looked close to death herself and he didn’t understand how the boy could stand there and not call her out on it. She was far too thin, she had dark bags under her eyes the cheap make-up wasn’t covering and her coat actually looked threadbare – that should have been a dead giveaway even if she had pretended it was all the latest chic. “Do you know… He has _always_ been a compulsive drinker, of course, but… He used to be good at toying with the limits. Drinking himself into alcohol poisoning… It came close a couple of times, to be truthful, but…”

“I think he had been looking for an out for a while, you know.” Peeta shrugged. “He just gave up, Effie. Ever since he came back to Twelve after the war… He didn’t want to live anymore, that’s as simple as that. We weren’t enough. The only thing he cared about at the end was where he would find his next bottle. We tried to help. We weren’t enough.”

“Oh, you are _not_ responsible, dear.” Effie countered firmly, squeezing his shoulder.

“He was a selfish _asshole_.” the boy spat. Guilt flashed on Peeta’s face when he looked back at her. “Sorry.” 

Haymitch wasn’t sure if the kid was apologizing for the language or the sentiment.

“He truly was.” she simply agreed with a smile. “Would you mind giving me a minute? I will join you back at the house.”

Peeta hugged her tight, gave a last glance at the grave and then left. Effie waited until he was well away to fully turn toward the open grave. Haymitch didn’t dare look. He didn’t want to see his own coffin. The undertakers were waiting a polite distance away, shuffling on their feet to keep warm, clearly impatient to be done.

“You are the only man I ever truly loved.” Effie whispered slowly, swallowing hard to keep the tears at bay. It didn’t really work and she bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “You had _a lot_ of flaws. And I really _do_ mean that, Haymitch. And I am _so angry_ with you, _so_ angry… I would have overlooked them all, you know. I would have overlooked everything if only you had loved me a little. If only…” A sob escaped her and she hastily rummaged in her purse for a handkerchief. It took her a few seconds to collect herself and Haymitch could do nothing but stare at her, feeling stupid and in pain because… It was all such a _waste_. “I only wanted you to love me back. Everything else… Everything else would have fallen into place if you had _just_ loved me back. I know it.” She shook her head and awkwardly reached for the tombstone, patting it twice. “I hope you are with your girlfriend now. I hope you are finally happy and at peace. I suspect I will join you before long. This Panem… I do not think it is really made for me. I love you. Still.” She chuckled bitterly. “ _Always_.”

She licked her lips and carefully wiped her cheeks, nodding at the undertakers before hurrying away as if she couldn’t bear to see them close the grave.

“Effie!” he called after her, finally breaking out of the strange spell that had fallen on him.

He tried to follow her but Snow grabbed his arm and everything turned _icy_. Suddenly he could see a cloud in front of his mouth with every breath and the chill in the air was _bad_. His extremities were numb and no matter how many times he tried to shrug the hand off he couldn’t get him to _let go_.

It was night once more.

The undertakers were gone but the grave was still gaping open.

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” he shouted, trying to struggle free…

The storm was picking up again and Haymitch couldn’t _bear_ the cold.

Snow’s gaze was _dead_ , absolutely _dead_ , and Haymitch had looked at death in the eyes enough times to recognize it. He needed to get out if he wanted to survive. He needed…

With the hand that wasn’t gripping him, Snow slowly lifted his arm and imperiously pointed at the gaping grave.

The message was clear and Haymitch swallowed hard, terror and dread making his stomach churn.

“I look in there and then I’m _done,_ you hear?” he snapped. “I’m done with this _fuckery_! I want to wake up! I want to…”

The grip on his arm tightened to the point Haymitch was sure he was going to lose the limb. The cold was so brutal it was _burning_.

Slowly, he took a few deep breaths and inched toward the grave. Snow let him go then, of course.

He peered inside the hole and found an open coffin. He frowned and looked a little closer… It was empty.

“What..” he started to ask.

He was pushed from behind.

So violently he didn’t have time to grab around for any kind of purchase.

He fell.

He fell and it lasted forever.

A lifetime of a fall.

And then he was inside the coffin and the lid slammed shut and he was trapped, trapped, _trapped_ …

He hammered his fists on the wood, screamed himself hoarse…

He wasn’t dead.

He could still fix it.

He could still fix everything.

_He wasn’t dead yet._

* * *

 

**6\. The Best Christmas**

* * *

 

Haymitch woke up with a start.

At least he thought he _did_ wake up this time.

The pale light of dawn was trickling through the windows and the fire was slowly dying in the fireplace. The house was warm, there was no suspicious creaking or banging…

He gave it a few minutes. Just to be sure.

But when no more ghost appeared out of nowhere to scare him half to death, he let out a long breath.

“Holy _shit_.” he muttered, rubbing his face. His eyes fell on the open metal box with the pictures he had never put away and he licked his lips. “Right.” He was exhausted. All he wanted to do was haul his ass up the stairs and crash on his bed. “ _Right_.”

He wasn’t dead yet.

The first thing he did was go into the kitchen and pick up the phone. His first call was to Four. It rang and rang…

“ _What the actual fuck?”_ Jo’s voice grumbled at the other end of the line.

“Hey, Jo.” he mumbled.

_“Haymitch?”_ she growled. _“It’s fucking three a.m.”_

Time difference. Right.

He glanced at the clock on the wall that had long since stopped working and then took a peek at the backyard through the window over the sink, stretching the phone’s cord as far as it would go. Snow glistened in the light but it had stopped pouring down. It actually looked _pretty_. The sun was very low still, he supposed it couldn’t be much later than six in the morning.

“Yeah, sorry.” he snorted. “I was just calling to say… You know… I haven’t been keeping in touch…”

“ _Can you keep in touch in daylight?”_ Jo snapped. There was another muffled voice on the other end and then Jo scoffed. _“Just Haymitch calling in the middle of the night like it’s normal behavior. What do I know? He woke up the kid?”_

“Say hi to Annie.” he requested and then winced. “Look, sorry, I can’t stay long. I’ve got lot of stuff to do today…”

“ _Are you fucking kidding me?”_ Jo snarled.

He preferred to ignore that. “I was thinking… Maybe me and Effie could visit soon, yeah? Check on you, Annie and the boy.”

“ _You and Effie_.” Jo repeated, dumbfounded. _“How fucking drunk are you right now? That train left the station long ago, Haymitch.”_

“Yeah, well…” he shrugged self-consciously. “I’ll call back tomorrow, alright? Okay. Merry Christmas!”

_“Are you fucking kidding me?”_   Johanna screeched. _“You can’t call people at three a.m. and then just…”_

He hung up before she could really get into it and dialed up another number he hadn’t used in a really long time. It took almost ten minutes before someone picked up.

“You work for the government.” he started when someone _actually_ answered the phone, without waiting for a proper greeting. “Ain’t you supposed to be available at all times? What if this was an emergency?”

“ _Haymitch_?” Plutarch asked sleepily.

Plutarch had never been an early riser and if it was three in Four… Well, then it was four in the city.

“Yeah.” he confirmed. “Merry Christmas! I need a favor.”

It was almost fifteen minutes before he had managed to _extort_ what he wanted from the Secretary of Communications – and it _did_ have its perks to know people in high places. He rushed to the kids’ house next, barely remembering to grab his coat.

He hammered on their locked door until Peeta opened it, rubbing sleep out of his eyes like a small boy. Haymitch hugged him without giving him time to pause or think.

“What the…” the boy exclaimed, taken aback. “What’s going on?”

“Merry Christmas!” Haymitch retorted, enjoying the look of total confusion on Peeta’s face. It was good not to be the one being confused for once. He had been confused enough in the last… How long had that night lasted? He spotted the girl hanging by the living-room threshold, warily watching him, and he let go of the boy to hug _her_. “And merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart.”

“How _wasted_ did you get last night?” she grumbled, hugging him back for a second and then shoving him away. “It’s barely six.”

“And you _hate_ Christmas.” Peeta reminded him, closing the front door. “I need coffee. _You_ need coffee too. A whole pot of it.”

“Don’t have time.” He shook his head, following them into their kitchen nonetheless. “There’s a hovercraft coming from Thirteen to pick me up  in thirty minutes and I need a shower.”

_“Finally,_ he washes.” Katniss muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes only to frown. “What do you mean _a hovercraft is coming to pick you up_? What the hell did you drink this time? You’re completely drunk.”

“I’m sober.” he argued. At least, he _felt_ sober. A bit hyper, _yeah_ , but sober. He waved his hand in the air. He didn’t have time for that. “Look, kids, I need a _huge_ favor.”

Peeta and Katniss exchanged a look.

“Let’s hear it.” the boy said, not without reserve.

Haymitch winced. “I need you to get rid of my booze. And this time, don’t forget the stash in the garden ‘cause that’s where I kept everything before the Quell and you never noticed so… Yeah. Throw it all away.”

“Are you joking?” Peeta frowned. “Is this a joke?”

“Haymitch… You want to _stop_ drinking?” Katniss asked, completely stunned.

“It’s not the important thing.” he dismissed.

“Sorry but that sounds _huge_ to me.” the boy retorted.

“Look, I’m gonna go get Effie and I’m gonna bring her back.” he replied. “We need to have a Christmas dinner tonight, okay?”

“Christmas dinner was last night and you missed it.” Katniss grumbled.

“What do you mean you’re going to go get Effie?” Peeta objected. “You can’t just show up and… _Abduct_ her. And what is this about a hovercraft? You sound…”

“Don’t worry about how I sound, just do what I say.” he cut him off and then made a face. “ _Please_. If you can clean a little around the house, I wouldn’t say no either… Add some Christmas thingy… Make it look nice for her, you know.”

“Oh, sure.” Katniss sulked, pouring herself some of the coffee Peeta had just set to brew. “We’re gonna spend Christmas cleaning your house while you go have hovercrafts hallucinations in the meadow.”

“Haymitch.” the boy squeezed his shoulder. “Sit down. Have some coffee. Sober up a little.”

“I _am fucking_ sober.” he snapped. “I _swear_. I’m _fucking_ sober, Plutarch’s sending a _fucking_ hovercraft and I’m gonna go and get my girl back no matter what so… Would you _please_ help me? For _fuck’s_ sake! _Fucking_ _ghosts_ are more helpful than the two of you.”

The kids exchanged another look.

Haymitch was ready to bet they were silently debating having him committed.

“Does Effie know you’re coming?” Peeta asked tentatively.

“No.” he admitted. “Look, she deserves a nice Christmas, alright? So I’m gonna go get her and we’re gonna have a nice Christmas, the four of us.”

“How do you know she’s not having a nice Christmas already?” Katniss frowned. “We talked to her last night and she was raving about that party she was going to…”

“I just know.” he scowled. “Could you two _fucking_ trust me for a second?”

“Did you really talk to Plutarch?” Peeta insisted.

“Yes.” he sighed. “Look, I don’t have time for this… I need a shower. If I show up like this… Well, she’s gonna rant about how I don’t have proper hygiene and, let’s face it, she’s kinda right about that but that’s no way to get a woman back so… I’m gonna go shower. Help me, don’t help me. Whatever.”

“You’re going to do the trip to the Capitol and back in one day?” Katniss asked, pushing a mewling Buttercup aside. Peeta wordlessly fixed the cat a plate.

“It’s a three hours ride by hovercraft.” he shrugged, on his way out through the back door. “We’ll be back late afternoon.”

“Very confident about that _we_.” the girl muttered dubiously. “She’s gonna kick him out the door.”

Haymitch didn’t let them rain on his parade. He was on a roll.

It felt a little like the rush of alcohol right before a very good binge and it was only once he was finally sitting in that hovercraft, in the nicest unstained pressed pants and clean navy blue woolen sweater he owned, well on his way to the Capitol, that he felt the first doubts creeping in.

What the fuck was he doing deciding on sobriety and crossing Panem on a whim just because he had the weirdest nightmare ever? He had had nightmares before. He had had bad dreams…

What if she _had_ rebuilt her life? What if she _was_ having parties every night and had found a new boyfriend?

He didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t believe in prophetic dreams or whatever it was supposed to have been. He didn’t believe in fate. He _really_ didn’t believe in Christmas miracles…

It had just been a dream.

It had to be.

But if it had been a dream why did he felt so much lighter? The guilt that he had been carrying around ever since his Games, the knowledge that he was responsible for his family’s and his girl’s death… It was gone. And when he probed at that particular dark corner of his mind, he didn’t feel as bad because… That was gone. Over. The kiss with Mabel had proved that well and truly. There were no more feelings there. Tenderness, yeah. Fond recollections. But no love.

So maybe it was his unconscious playing tricks on him with the help of a particularly vicious batch of moonshine…

Or maybe it had been real.

The whole thing.

Maybe…

The only thing he knew for sure was that he never wanted to see Effie upset again, never like in that vision Finnick had showed him and he certainly didn’t want her crying on his grave about the life they never had together.

What he wanted…

What he _really_ wanted was to go back to that Christmas they had spent in bed six years earlier.

Mabel had been right. It _had_ been his best Christmas.

And he was done denying.

He was done.

The hovercraft landed in the Capitol and he didn’t let himself hesitate or second-guess when he stepped out. As Plutarch had sleepily promised, there was a car and a driver waiting for him on the tarmac – and, even better, the driver knew her new address thanks to the former Gamemaker’s presence of mind.

He felt the urge for a drink. Several times. But he was so committed to his present goals that it wasn’t difficult to ignore it for now. The temptation to stop at a bar on the way just for a liquid dose of courage was fleeting. He didn’t want to risk it.

The Capitol had changed a lot since the war, rebuilding had completely reshaped the city, but it was still wearing its best Christmas outfit. Everywhere he looked, there were decorations and trees and what not… The day before it would have irritated him, now it simply made him smirk.

He was so impatient, he could hardly sit still.

And when the car left the nice districts behind to venture in a neighborhood that looked slightly dangerous, he knew whatever that dream was, it hadn’t lied. There were no decorations here. Just new grey squared buildings and unsmiling people. He didn’t like the thought of her walking around alone in that place. It looked like the kind of place a woman like her would get mugged because she would be an easy prey.

It was so _drab_.

She didn’t belong there.

Finally, the car parked in front of one of the grey buildings and Haymitch climbed out, looking around with uncertainty. Her name wasn’t on the buzzer but the hall door was broken and he only had to push to let himself inside. He found the right floor thanks to the mailboxes and just went straight for the stairs – he didn’t trust the elevator and it allowed him to burn some of that restlessness.

Once he was standing in front of her door, he nervously wiped his sweaty palms on his coat and knocked. And when it didn’t get him any answer, he knocked again, checking his watch. With the time difference, it was a little past nine in the morning. Not early at all for her.

He heard a small noise inside and he knocked again. Still, there was no answer.

“Effie?” he called, finally understanding what the problem might be. “It’s me, sweetheart. Can you open up?”

There was a long moment of complete stillness on the other side of the door and then bolts were audibly turned. He counted three until the jingle of keys signaled the door was unlocked. There was another second of immobility before she actually opened it though.

And then he saw her and he stopped doubting. The same confidence he had woken up with rose up. This was the right decision. He had been right to come.

Because she looked like hell.

Just like she had last night in Finnick’s vision. Too thin – albeit not yet as skeletal as she would be two years from then if he messed this up – upset and hangovered as opposed to tipsy. On that front, he could sympathize. She was floating in her long-sleeved green dress.

She didn’t say anything. She just stared.

“Can I come in?” he asked because he _wasn’t_ doing this in the hallway.

She blinked and suddenly it was like she had come back to herself. “Oh. Of course. My apologies. Come in. I was not… I was not expecting visitors, you will have to excuse the mess. It is…”  She had stepped back during her little speech and he took the opportunity to let himself in and close the door behind him. If he needed any more proof… The place was the same as in his dream. The ridiculously tiny Christmas tree was still on the coffee table with the now very empty bottle of vodka… He didn’t need to check the cupboard to know he would find a packet of cookies. Effie cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed both by the apartment and…Well… He wasn’t entirely at ease either. Last time they had been together in the same room it had become nasty. She patted her chin-long hair self-consciously. “I did not know you were in town. I talked to the children last night and I must have misunderstood because I could have sworn they said you were…”

“Getting myself wasted?” he snorted. “Yeah. I was.”

“I see.” she nodded, even though she clearly didn’t see anything because she looked completely lost. “I am not quite sure I understand…”

“I came to take you home.” he announced.

She looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Home.” she repeated.

“Yeah.” he confirmed firmly. “It’s Christmas and we’re gonna spend it at home. With the kids. I have a hovercraft waiting for us. Guess we’re gonna need to send something nice to Plutarch ‘cause I _did_ wake him at four in the morning so…”

He shrugged.

She stared.

“Are you drunk?” she asked after a few seconds.

“Why is everybody asking that?” he sighed.

“I wonder.” she deadpanned and there was a hint of amusement in there but she covered the slip by turning away from him and snatching a cigarette and her lighter from the coffee table. She didn’t sit down and didn’t invite him to make himself at home so he remained standing, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. “What do you want, Haymitch?”

“Told you.” he grumbled.

“It did not make much sense so you will forgive me for not understanding it.” she retorted. “I do not see what…”

“Are you still mad at me?” he cut her off.

She wedged the cigarette between her lips and flicked the lighter a few times before it finally worked. She was irritated, that was plain to see at her jerky movements. She used to hide it better.

“You still have deplorable manners.” she remarked.

“Not what I asked.” he pointed out.

“Does it matter?” she challenged. “You cannot wake up one day and decide that you suddenly want me to come to Twelve…”

“Yeah, I can. It’s Christmas.” he snapped, automatically eying the bottle of vodka.

“You _hate_ Christmas.” she shot right back.

“Well, now I love it. What do you know. Things change.” he spat. “Except for one _fucking_ thing, yeah? We can’t go one _fucking_ minute without jumping at each other’s throat.”

“Language.” she rebuked. “This whole thing is _crazy_. You cannot _seriously_ think that…

“I’m _done_. That’s what I came to tell you. I’m done.” he interrupted her again, shocking her into silence. 

“Done with what?” she whispered after a second, jutting her chin in the air. But it looked more defeated than defiant. As if she was trying to pretend she was fine when she so obviously wasn’t.

“You called me last night.” he stated.

She was all poker face but he saw the surprise flash in her eyes. “You did not answer.”

“I’m here now.” he said, lifting his arms and letting them fall down in a helpless gesture. “And I’m _fucking_ done, Effie. It’s gone on long enough. I’m done. So be done too and let’s move on, yeah?”

“I do not understand what you are talking about.” she retorted, taking a frantic drag of her cigarette. “What are you done with? _Us_? Haven’t we been done for a whole year now? Have we even ever begun? This…”

“I’m done with this stupid war between us, alright?” he growled. “I’m done with… I’m done failing the kids ‘cause I’m too busy getting myself _shit-faced_ so it stops _hurting_. I’m done _fucking_ hating on Christmas just ‘cause you love it so much it’s impossible not to think about you every second and the pain’s _unbearable._ I’m done drinking full point ‘cause I _sure as hell_ ain’t forcing Peeta to pick up my dead corpse from the floor in two years. I’m done watching you get so upset you do that little wheezy sound when you cry. I’m _really_ done with _that_.” The place wasn’t that big. He only had to take one step forward to be able to grab her hand and he squeezed her fingers hard. “I’m done being without you, you hear? I’m done.”

“What are you _talking_ about? What is this about dying in two years? Are you sick? Is this what it is about? Are you…” she worried, looking around for a place to put down her cigarette. When she found none she simply rolled her eyes and crushed it on an already badly damaged wooden storage unit. Then she cupped his cheek and studied him with wide eyes, as if she was trying to _see_ through him. “Haymitch, is it your liver? Are you dying?”

“I ain’t _fucking_ dying. Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” he grumbled but leaned into her hand. “Alright, you ain’t gonna believe me, sweetheart, but I’ve had those visions last night… There were those ghosts…”

“ _Ghosts_.” she repeated with a frown. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Doesn’t matter.” he dismissed. “Point is… They showed me things, okay? And the bottom line is… It’s not how I want my life to go. You’re here crying and drinking yourself to sleep… I’m over there drinking myself to death…” He shook his head. “I saw where that leads, Effie. We’re not going down that road. We’re _not_. You’re coming home with me, yeah? We put the past behind us. We try to make a future. A good one. You and me and the kids. What do you say?”

She was searching his gaze, biting down on her bottom lip, so _tempted_ … He could see it. How tempted she was. What did she have to tie her up here after all?

But what he was offering wasn’t enough.

She was going to pull away. He saw it in her eyes.

“It is obvious that dream upset you…” she began slowly. She dropped her hand from his cheek to his shoulder.

“I love you.” he said quickly, without even really thinking about it.

In that last vision she had said that if he had just loved her back everything would have fallen into place. And the truth was… He had loved her for a long time. He had just been too stubborn to admit it, too quick to deny it. He had thought those words were impossible but they were actually almost easy now. The weight was gone. He had seen everything he needed to see. He understood. He _did_. He remembered. That was what being in love should have always felt like: being invincible, ready to take on the world, not weak and so terrified of losing her he hurt her at every possible opportunity before others had the chance.

"I love you.” he repeated for good measure and then shrugged with a slightly self-depreciating smirk. “Still. Always.”

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. More talking, maybe. Yeah, _definitely_ more talking. Some arguing. Maybe even full out screaming.

Not the violent way she grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him in a brutal kiss.

Not that he protested.

He was only too happy to wrap his arms around her waist and tug  her closer.

He couldn’t help but compare it to the kiss he had shared with Mabel the previous night. It had felt so wrong but _this_ … _This_ was _oh_ so very right…

Suddenly she drew back, pulling on his bottom lip with her teeth. She was glaring and he wasn’t sure what he had done to piss her off in the last couple of minutes aside from kissing her senseless. “If this is some kind of joke… If you think this is a funny prank to pull for Christmas or…”

He shut her up by kissing her again and she couldn’t have been _very_ concerned with it being a prank because she kissed him back, locking her arms around his neck and hopping… He stumbled back a little, not used to it anymore, but he caught her anyway, locking his hands under her ass to support her weight…

“This looks fun but I’ve got a car and a hovercraft waiting and I kind of forced the kids to cook another Christmas dinner so maybe…” he hesitated between two kisses. There was a door on the right he was pretty sure led to the bedroom and…

“Later?” she finished for him.

“Yeah.” he mumbled against her lips.

They didn’t stop kissing. Or touching each other.

“You can stop anytime now.” she hummed right before pushing her tongue in his mouth again.

“You’re the one kissing me.” he grumbled, rocking his hips a little because the whole thing was making him feel very tight in his pants and… “Oh, fuck it _.”_ he spat when she licked _that_ spot under his ear only to bite down on it.

He dropped them on the couch, not understanding her cry of warning.

At least not before the thing gave out under them and they ended up on the floor.

They remained very still for a second, assessing injuries. Haymitch’s back was going to be bruised black and blue but he didn’t think anything was broken. He was about to ask her if she was alright when she started laughing.

A real laugh.

It rang loud and clear in the room, prompting him to chuckle too because… As ridiculous as the situation was, it was _so_ typical of them. Breaking furniture everywhere they tried to _fuck_.

She sat up and then used his shoulder to push herself up to her feet. “I think that it is fate’s way of telling us I need to pack.”

“Don’t believe in fate.” he commented, grabbing the hand she outstretched to pull him off the floor.

“You do not believe in fate but you believe in strange visions enough to risk coming here.” she teased. “Who were those ghosts anyway?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” he bargained.

She accepted that and went to fill her old pink suitcase.

“What should I bring?” She frowned at the meager collection of clothes in her closet.

“Everything.” he declared, grabbing an armful of dresses and tossing them in her suitcase to her utter horror.

“Haymitch! There is a proper way to fill a suitcase and this is _not_ it!” she gasped.

They bickered all the time it took her to _properly_ pack everything but when they were done, he had had his way and there was nothing important left in the apartment. She never acknowledged she was moving for _good_ but she was not denying it either.

He would take what he could get.

He recounted the whole weird night for her during the flight, watching her change color when he told her about the parts where she had been a kid. By the end, she was even more convinced than _he_ was about the whole ghost thing.

“I am _not_ moving into that house.” she declared. “I will stay at the children’s. And you can stay with us too. Your house is _haunted_.”

“They said they were Christmas spirits.” he shrugged. “And I guess they made their point. It’s all fine.”

“How can you _say_ that?” she exclaimed. “I can hardly wrap my head around the whole thing.”

“Then, don’t.” he dismissed. “Maybe I was just high. Maybe the parts about you were things I knew but I didn’t know I knew, right? You talk all the time. Maybe you told me all that stuff years ago and I just hallucinated about it.”

She pouted. “Perhaps.”

“Not the important thing anyway.” he insisted.

“The important thing is that you love me.” she replied.

“Right.” he smirked.

She beamed when he didn’t deny it or evaded and it was so simple to make her happy he wondered why it had taken him _so fucking long_ to get his head out of his ass. They spent the rest of the trip aggressively kissing and making the attendants uncomfortable with their far too demonstrative displays of affection.

Haymitch couldn’t even bring himself to care.

Not about that and not about the fact that he was seen dragging pink luggage throughout the District. He wasn’t sure what shocked people more: how hard he was smiling or the _merry Christmas_ he kept tossing at them just to see them stare back, obviously scared by his cheerfulness. That part was fun.

“You are acting _entirely_ too smug.” Effie chided, grinning like a fool too. She slipped her hand in his and he let her, squeezing her fingers. “It is _rude_. Lower it down a notch.”

“You first.” he challenged.

She huffed but didn’t stop grinning and he didn’t stop with his childish antics until they reached the Village. All the windows in his house were opened wide and he wondered if the kids wanted him to catch pneumonia. The reason for that became clear once they were inside though. He had asked them to clean around a little and they had certainly done that.

The house didn’t smell like a dumpster anymore.

It actually smelt fresh.

Even if it was freezing.

They must have made some noise because Katniss’ head poked out of the living-room. “You’re back. Good. The cleaning’s your Christmas present, by the way. And I hope you were serious about getting rid of the booze because Peeta took that to heart.” Then she spotted Effie and her eyes widened. “You came!”

Effie smiled, suddenly a little hesitant. “Hello, dear.”

She only relaxed once the girl hugged her, so obviously pleased to see her that she forgot to be nervous. The kids had _really_ done a good job with the place. Not only was it tolerably clean, they had hung on some Christmas decorations around.

“No tree.” Effie pouted.

“Next year.” Haymitch promised quietly, pressing a discrete kiss against her head. “You can even put fairy lights outside and I won’t complain. _Much_.”

She shook her head and took advantage of Katniss leaving the room to steal a real kiss. “I love you when you are in a good mood, you know.”

“Only when I’m in a good mood?” he snorted.

She pushed him back a little only to steal another kiss right after that.

“Mistletoe.” she explained vaguely before kissing him again.

If the noise Katniss made was to be believed, she hadn’t really planned on that mistletoe seeing any tongue action. She made a face and then declared loudly that they should all go over to her house while his got warm again so they could have dinner.

Peeta looked absolutely shocked when he saw Effie but it soon turned into delight. Once she had hugged the boy tight, Haymitch rolled his eyes for her benefit. “They had no faith in me.”

“They should know better.” she teased. “You can be very persuasive when you want something.”

“Right?” he triumphed.

He was ignored by everyone.

Dinner was a joyful affair and even though Haymitch felt the urge for a drink, he managed to hide his shaking hands and keep his anxiety to himself. It would start getting really bad the next day, he figured. He knew what was waiting ahead and it wouldn’t be pretty… But for now, right then, sitting at that table and bumping legs with Effie under the table every two seconds, sharing secret smiles with her and joking with the kids, it didn’t seem that important.

There would be time to fix that tomorrow. For now…

“To the best Christmas.” he toasted over dessert, with a glass of water.

“To the best Christmas.” they all echoed, clearly amused by his newfound enthusiasm.

He didn’t care if they mocked him.

Effie’s hand rested on his thigh and all was right in the world.

Finally, everything was fixed.

* * *

 

**_The End_ **

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like? Please do let me know!


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